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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

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06 — untouchable

summary: “come on, come on, say that we’ll be together/”i’m caught up in you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: rated 16+ for two mentions of nakedness, short blood mention, brief mention of dead things, mostly canon compliant (s4 e23 ‘amplification’), wc: 4.3k a/n: thank you again to the lovely @astrophileous for beta-reading <3 good luck on your thesis babes MWAH SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

38 Hours Before the Phone Call – Monday, 8:42AM, BAU Office

Spencer arrives at the office with a stupidly giddy smile on his face. His cheeks are flushed as he grips a hot takeaway cup of coffee in his hands. He taps the cup idly with his fingers, bouncing on the heels of his feet as he steps out of the elevator unable to shake the smile off his face. It’s ridiculous and insane and borderline delusional but he knows it’s far from that. After all, he has a perfectly good reason as to why he is in such high spirits and that reason is you. After years of pining and psyching himself up (only to psych himself out) he managed to actually ask you out on a date. And, he reminds himself with a silly smile, he actually kissed you. And it wasn’t one of those platonic kisses, no, this was an actual kiss to the lips and he couldn’t be happier.

He thinks back to the previous night, visualising the way your cheeks grew warm and the way your lips felt against his. His own cheeks flush at the thoughts and he remembers committing that version of you to memory. How on earth are you so beautiful? Even while sleep deprived with dark bags under your eyes or unruly hair, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Pretty boy,” Derek comments in a teasing sing-songy voice as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant. “Ooh, I know that look.”

Spencer chokes a little, wiping his mouth with a tissue in his bag. “What look?”

“Someone got lucky last night,” Derek responds with a grin. “It must be the hair. I heard that long hair gets all the ladies nowadays.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Spencer is quick to deny, walking through the big glass doors of the office.

“Who got lucky last night?” Emily asks, poking her head out of her little stall. Her eyes flit to Spencer and she grins. “Oh… I see how it is.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Spencer says adamantly, swiping a hand over his face. “It isn’t like that. Whatever we have is good. It doesn’t need to be–” He coughs quietly as blood rushes to his ears– “to be sexual. I like her. More than physically.”

Emily coos at his confession, twisting around her desk to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a gentleman, Reid.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says through a laugh, swatting Emily’s hands away. “Being a gentleman. Some women prefer it over the whole macho act.”

“Hey, I am plenty gentleman,” Derek says swiftly, holding a finger out. “And chicks dig the macho thing.”

***

14 Hours Before the Phone Call – Tuesday, 7:09AM, BAU Office

It was supposed to be a normal morning. It was supposed to be an average Tuesday with your average, run-of-the-mill serial killer with daddy issues but instead, JJ called the entire team in the early hours of the morning, saying to get to the BAU as quickly as possible.

“Case must be local. JJ said not to bring a go-bag,” Spencer says as they enter the office.

In moments they were met with a complete arsenal of military personnel, bustling around their desks and storming throughout the office. Others were answering and sending phone calls, demanding for processes to be sped up as Hotch speaks to a group of people in his own personal office, Rossi beside him.

“What’s the army doing here?” Derek asks, his brows furrowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Emily demands, eyeing the uniformed professionals as they splay casefiles across their desks.

They all enter the conference room where JJ was waiting for them, along with a neatly dressed Asian woman with her hair tied up in a ponytail and out of her face.

“Guys, this is Dr Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ introduces, filling up styrofoam cups with water and placing them around the round table.

“Hello. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” she says as she places pills on a shiny metal tray.

Spencer frowns at that. “What circumstances?”

Hotch enters the room instantly, gripping a case file in his iron fist. “We need to get started.”

“Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after 2PM yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It’s now just past 7AM the next day, we have twelve people dead,” JJ explains as the rest of team look through the manilla files.

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Derek murmurs thoughtfully. “Anthrax?”

Spencer flicks through the papers, scanning the tox screen. “Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast.”

“This strain does,” Kimura says, an edge of fear in her tone.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets– airports, malls, trains?” Emily asks, turning to Hotch who shakes his head.

“There’s a media blackout.”

“We’re not telling the public?”

Derek looks over at Emily. “We’d have a mass exodus.”

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi explains.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer says as he sifts through the papers.

“Or if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again. Doesn’t the public have the right know that?”

“If there is another attack, there’s no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet,” Hotch says urgently. “Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”

Spencer wets his bottom lip nervously, his thoughts drifting to you. You work indoors all day. You’ll be fine, you have to be. “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized,” Kimura explains, “reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. Odourless and invisible.”

Rossi nods, almost as if he wasn’t surprised at all upon hearing the news. “A sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Derek points out, gesturing to the less than positive crime photos in their files.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Kimura begins, taking an ultrasound scan of a patient’s lungs and presenting it to the team. “Its the lungs. We don’t know how to com2bat the toxins once they’re inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. Our offices will become a small command centre,” JJ tells them.

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch adds on.

“General Whitworth is coming here?” Rossi asks.

Hotch nods in the affirmative. “He’s in charge of sit containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Kimura goes on to tell the team, looking at each person.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch says, dishing out responsibilities. “Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene. There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

Linda hands a small plastic container, each one having two round tablets resting inside. “We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something.”

Emily lets out a nervous breath as she toys with the rim of the container. “This… is really happening?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch says as reassuringly as possible before knocking his head back and taking the two Cipro tablets.

“Cent’anni,” Rossi toasts, holding the little container out. “May you live one hundred years.”

***

Everyone rushes about, gathering files and resources before the head off to complete their allocated assignments. Regardless of how much is at stake in this certain situation, Spencer feels his heart spike with anxiety. It’s against protocol, sure, but shouldn’t he call you? Tell you to take a sick day and stay at home, or to just stay indoors the entire time you’re at work. Maybe if he’s lucky he could get you into witness protection.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch says slowly, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind him.

Spencer freezes, his hands pausing as they rummage through his bag in search of his cell. “I’m not.”

“You’re not thinking?” Hotch asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know what you want to do.”

“I can’t just– I can’t just keep her in the dark, Hotch,” Spencer insists, continuing to feel for his cell phone. “She could get infected and–” His mouth runs dry at the idea and he swallows thickly. “If I can protect her, then why shouldn’t I?

Aaron sighs, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knit together. “I know you care about her and I know you’re worried, but she isn’t on this team anymore. If we all called home and used this information to give them the advantage that other people don’t have… is that really the right thing to do?”

“Don’t give me a moral dilemma, Hotch. This isn’t a hypothetical,” Spencer counters, finally finding the little device buried at the bottom of his satchel. “When I– when the incident with Tobias Hankel happened, she never gave up on me. She went out on a limb for me. I’m returning the favour.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment before finally, “What about the guilt?”

Spencer balks. “What?”

“If she is saved because of the information you gave her… can you imagine the guilt she would feel? She’s a selfless person, Spencer, and knowing her… well, you can guess what she would do,” Aaron says, glancing back to his office where Rossi is waving him over. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Kimura is waiting for you.”

Hotch is gone before Spencer could say anything. He huffs quietly, guilty after hearing Hotch’s words. Even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he has to accept that his boss is right. The best way to keep you safe is by finding this UnSub before he could hurt any more people. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, stalking out of the BAU offices. Hopefully you’ll forgive him.

***

“Dr. Lawrence Nichols? Yeah, I read about him. He was highly respected doctor who studied anthrax prior to the attacks in 2001,” Spencer says as he gets into the passenger seat of Derek’s SUV. He rolls up the sleeves of his dark purple shirt, brushing some sweat from his forehead. “They think that he’s behind it?”

“There was a video of him at a conference with the with the National Defense Committee. He was paranoid after the Amerithrax attacks in 2001, proposing some crazy high budget to ‘protect the people of America’,” Derek explains. “He matches the profile exactly. Prentiss and Rossi are heading to his work. Apparently he got demoted into working with influenza.”

Spencer grimaces as he stares at the overgrowing rose bushes at the front of Dr. Nichols’s house, his nose scrunching up in distaste. Do people not hire gardeners anymore? He squeezes past a few bushes to follow Derek closer to the house, hissing when his hand gets caught on one of the thorns. He shakes his hand out, a scratch already blooming on the back of his hand with small droplets ot blood already emerging.

He continues to walk into the house as Derek’s phone rings, entering the house through a glass sliding door. The whirring of the fan above him grabs his attention and he frowns. The fan is on but the door is open… someone must have left in a hurry. He takes another step forward, jolting when he hears the sound of glass being crushed under his feet. Shit.

“Reid?” Derek yells, and Spencer jumps.

“Morgan, get– get back!” Spencer yells, slamming the sliding door shut so hard that the glass shakes. “Get back! Get out of here!”

Derek frowns, tugging at the handle. ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“No, don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks again, tugging once more at the handle; Spencer is a lot stronger than he expected.

“What’s wrong?”

Spencer pushes his hair out of his face in frustration as he locks the door, turning back to his friend. “I’m sorry.”

It is in that moment that Derek’s eyes turn to the ground, his eyes widening in disbelief as he sees the white powder in the room leaking from a broken test tube with a bright yellow symbol for ‘biological hazard’.

It feels like hours before Hotch and the military arrive at the house, along with an ambulance and a hazmat team. The stench of Dr. Nichols’s dead body lingers in the air even though the air-con is blasting and the air is circulating through the room. He doesn’t even want to think about the dead animals and test subjects in the cages, his stomach churning at the mere thought. From what he could tell, the doctor was dead three days ago, meaning that he couldn’t have been the one to infect those people at the park. His head is pounding and his throat itches and all of a sudden he can’t breathe. He tells himself to relax but how can he when he very well could die in here? He knows the statistics; only 55% of those who receive aggressive treatment survive. He doesn’t like those odds.

“Hotch, I really messed up this time,” he says hoarsely into the phone, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.

“Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch says firmly, and Spencer watches as he puts the call on speaker.

“What– no, I’m staying right here,” Spencer insists, frowning.

Derek interrupts swiftly, “No, you’re not, Reid.”

“I’m already exposed,” Spencer says, his voice straining as he turns back into Dr. Nichols’s makeshift lab. “It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”

General Whitworth grimaces in response. “He’s already infected. Now, if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”

“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols,” Spencer insists as he searches through the lab for what seems like the millionth time.

Test tubes, files, and text books litter the lab, a flurry of papers splayed across the floor. The sight of them remind him of the first time he met you when you had ran into him on his first official day at the BAU. You were a swirling rainstorm as you practically slammed your head against his chest, the paperwork you were carrying flying into the air as you toppled over like a house of cards. In that moment, Spencer could have sworn that you were untouchable. You were like a fire, burning brighter than the sun, and he would be damned if he ever made that flame flicker away.

“Come on, Hotch, say something to him,” Derek tries again, worry laced in his tone.

Aaron hesitates as he considers his options before sighing. “He’s right. His best chase is inside. We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, it’s not going to do me any good. I’m already infected.” Spencer knows that if you were still part of the team that you would be scolding him about being so stubborn. Hell, you’re not even on the team anymore and you still scold him about it.

As he continues to try and search for more clues and filtering the information he finds through to Derek, his thoughts continuously drift back to you. You and your blissfully unaware state. He thinks of the way you smile and the way you felt in his arms that day. He is sure that the universe is playing tricks with him because the one moment he finally has you, you’re ripped away from him. His mind wanders back to the way your eyes lit up and the way your lips felt against his and in that moment he’s begging. He’s begging whatever higher power there is that he is part of the 55% of people who survive an anthrax attack after treatment.

“Hey, Reid,” Penelope’s voice echoes through the phone, sad and mopey. It’s unlike her, incredibly uncharacteristic and Spencer chokes out a quiet laugh.

“Reid? Wow, no, uh… no witty Garcia greeting for me?” He asks, running his fingers through his damp sweaty hair. It’s disgusting and gross and he hates it because he knows that it’s a symptom of the disease.

Penelope chuckles weakly from the other side of the line. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that so instead he asks, “Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I… I know I can’t call… I know I can’t call (Y/N) or my mother without, uh–” he coughs, wiping his face with the palm of his hand and feeling his clammy skin– “without alerting everyone.”

“What do you need?”

“I– uh– I need you to record a message. Two messages. One for my mother and the other for… for (Y/N). In case anything happens to me.” His voice cracks as he speaks, his hand trembling because oh God, this really could be the end. After everything he went through going to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings, getting clean, going to therapy… this is how it ends?

“Oh, nothing is gonna happen to you,” Garcia says, wholeheartedly believing it. “You’re gonna brilliantly find ut who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

Spencer lets out a nervous breath. “I hope you’re right. But if you’re not, I just… I really want to make sure that they hear my voice. Both of them.”

“Okay. Just– just give me a second,” Penelope mumbles, clicking away on her keyboard.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“This– um, it’s for my mum first…” He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “Hi, mum. This is Spencer. I just– I just really want you to know that I love you, and– and I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

Penelope presses pause on that message, murmuring, “Okay. And– and for (Y/N)?”

“Is it on?” He asks quietly, coughing as the itchiness in his throat refuses to relent. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter.” His voice catches in his throat as he speaks, tears slipping past his eyes as he tries to choke out the words. “If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

“Reid?”

Dr. Kimura enters the room through the sliding door, clad in a bright red hazmat suit. “Prep the victim for transfer.”

“I gotta go,” Spencer says quickly, hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.

“Dr. Reid,” Kimura says, walking over to him.

“You look nice,” he says drily, staring at the uniform. It looks very similar to an astronaut costume and if he were in any other situation, he would have started to laugh.

Kimura chuckles quietly. “I haven’t been in this outfit for a while.”

“How… how are the patients doing?” Spencer manages to ask, and suddenly it feels as if all the air is kicked out of his lungs. His head throbs with each attempt he makes to take in a breath and sweat pools at the top of his lip.

“Let’s worry about you.”

“I actually… I feel fine,” Spencer lies through gritted teeth, the muscles in his shoulders aching with each heave of his chest.

Kimura nods, her concern palpable. “Okay, if you feel any pain, I can give you something.”

In an instant, the fear of losing all the progress he has made in the past year pools to his stomach and he shakes his head adamantly, ignoring the way the room spins. “No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.”

“We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable and I don’t want to take any narcotics!” Spencer says firmly, and he can see the realisation dawn in Kimura’s eyes.

“Okay… tell me how I can help.”

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says through heavy breaths, sucking in a mouthful of air with every sentence.

It isn’t long before the hazmat team has Spencer in a decontamination tent, the smell of sterile plastic filling his nose. They’re hosing him down behind a clear plastic curtain, Derek standing in front of him. The feeling of the cold water splashing against his back is uncomfortable, and Spencer grimaces at the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin. It’s gross and his work shirt is growing heavy from the waterweight, sagging down on his shoulders. The anthrax isn’t helping either. It’s too hot and too cold all at once, it’s too hard to breathe and it’s like his head weighs a million pounds.

“Go help Hotch,” Spencer croaks out to Derek, shivering as they continue to spray water on his back and front.

“Hotch has plenty of people helping him,” Derek dismisses.

Spencer shakes his head and regrets it immediately, his head starting to spin. “He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.”

“I’m about to get naked so that they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” Spencer deadpans.

Derek grimaces before finally saying, “What if (Y/N) were here? Would you tell her to go?”

“(Y/N) wouldn’t mind seeing me naked.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot upwards at Spencer’s less than innocent words, immediately turning away. “We are having a conversation about this later. Take good care of him, please.”

The ambulance is stuffy and cramped, and the scrubs that he has to wear is itchy and uncomfortable. They’re menial thoughts that don’t even matter considering the severity of the situation, and Spencer wheezes out of a cough; a reminder that he might not even live to see the next day. The nasal cannula that is attached to Spencer’s nose isn’t doing much to assist him to breathe, and he coughs again.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Kimura asks as she checks his vitals.

“My throats a little dry, but other than that I feel– I flee– feel…” He blanks. His mind knows the words but they get stuck on his tongue and he panics. It can’t end like this. He refuses for it to end like this. “Flee– fleel– I–”

Kimura nods in understanding, a sense of urgency behind her words. “Okay. Okay, you’re doing okay. Driver, faster!”

“Call–” Spencer tries again, the words spinning in his head. “Pelen– Penel… low… len…”

Call Penelope, he tries to say, the lights in the ambulance growing brighter and brighter. She needs to give (Y/N) the message, she needs to… she needs to…

All he sees is white.

***

The first thing Spencer notices when he regains consciousness is the smell of lavender and oranges overpowering the sterile scent of antibacterial wipes. It’s comforting and familiar and he wracks his brain as he tries to remember where he remembers it from. He doesn’t remember much; only getting into the ambulance and Kimura asking him questions. He shuffles around in his hospital bed, stretching his aching muscles. He forces his eyes open little by little, and he quints at the woman at the end of his hospital bed.

“(Y/N)?”

“You ass,” you respond tearfully, your voice cracking as you swat him lightly on the arm. “You refused treatment?”

He smiles a little, sitting up on the bed. “Hey, angel.”

“Don’t ‘hey angel’ me,” you sniffle, taking hold of his hand and stroking his palm with your thumb. “You scared me.”

Spencer hums softly in acknowledgement, squeezing your hand back. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. Kimura said that you should be free to go in a couple of days but you need rest afterwards,” you tell him, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You owe me a date.”

“I do,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed and a giddy smile on his face despite where he is. He looks at you, you and his oversized CalTech hoodie. The hoodie in itself is ugly; a muted grey with a half-assed logo slapped to the front and Spencer has hated it ever since he bought it with what little funds he had back in college. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t hate it so much when you wear it. “You look beautiful.”

You roll your pretty eyes at him, moving your chair closer to him. “Liar.”

“Never,” he whispers. “Never to you.”

You smile at him again, bringing your lips to the back of his hand. “You told me you loved me. Is that true, too?”

“Love,” he corrects you quietly, “and I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Heat rushes up your neck at his words and you beam at him, kissing his cheeks. “I love you.”

He reaches a hand out to hold the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the line from your ear to your jaw. “I love you,” he says into the space between you, before kissing you again.

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strawberryforks · 2 months ago

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can you write a tim bradford angst fic pleaSe? something like along the lines of him and the reader are married and she comes from a line of cops ( kinda like blue bloods) and he has an affair with lucy? super angsty!! thank you!!! ☺️

ignorance isn’t always bliss// tim bradford x reader

warnings: swearing, violence, police stuff, mentions of guns, cheating, #nobetawedielikethisrelationship

a/n: requests are open! THANK YOU anon for this one!! and HAPPY NEW YEARS! <3

There had been signs. Some subtle, some so obvious that by ignoring them—by not following them you wondered if you should quit your job and pull a John-Nolan and work construction (if not following in his footsteps, you should’ve consulted him at least. John Nolan was a big talker and somewhere inside all of those words was always solid, sometimes maddening, advice. Maybe if you had asked him things would’ve ended differently) Hey, or maybe you could be a farmer! Work at a call centre, as a barista, as a banker, a hostess, literally any occupation that didn’t involve uncovering the truth. The truth that you were trying so hard to ignore.

You ignored it when your husband started “working late” even when Sergeant Grey had no recollection of the case he stayed late working on. Even when his late night scouring of casefiles was done with his Rookie, Lucy Chen. But… that was okay. Lucy was like a sister to you. When she needed a place to stay you had convinced Tim to let her crash on your couch–maybe that was where it all went wrong, maybe it was your fault, you who had planted the seed that tore your family apart. You ignored how he kissed you less, how you had less to talk about. You even ignored when your brother Charles looked at you with pity having overheard rumours you insisted were just that–rumours.

You ignored it when Tim came home smelling like a perfume that wasn’t yours. When that perfume was one you’ve smelt in the workplace before; one belonging to a coworker you considered a friend.

Your friend, your husband.

It was all so surreal.

Labels didn’t mean much, you learned that quickly. A friend could betray you, so could a husband. The badge didn’t always mean honour, not outside of your family at least.

You ignored a lot… but you could only be so oblivious.

Your breaking point was unexpected. It came on a monday. Tim had the day off because he’d been working night shifts and you had gotten off early, hoping to patch up some things by cooking your husband a nice meal–one of his favourites.

“Baby, I’m home! I grabbed some groceries, going to make lasagna for dinner, I think.” You shoulder through the doors and Kojo bounds over to you, barking. He wags his tail happily and you bend down and scratch the space between his ears. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” You step past him and hear a noise. Is someone… what? Suddenly your off duty weapon is unholstered, you lift the gun up as you clear the house, room by room. There’s no one in the living room, no one in the kitchen. You start down the hallway, pushing doors open and looking inside. No one in the bathroom, no one in the guest room. That leaves one room. Your bedroom. The noises grow louder. You hear rustling, hushed voices. Frantic movements. You’re hoping; honestly you’re praying that someone has broken in. Anything but what you’ve come to expect. “Tim?” you call, “is that you?”

No answer. Of course there’s no answer. You take a deep breath, the cool metal of the doorknob closed in your hand. You twist it and push into the room. Tim’s standing at the end of the bed, facing you and the open door. He’s shirtless, his hair is messed up and there’s remnants of lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

You don’t wear lipstick. You haven’t since your last date night. The one so long ago the details are fuzzy.

Tim drags his hand across his face again while the other flies to the back of his neck. “Y/n…” he looks guilty and you know what he’s going to say, you just… you don’t know if you can hear it. If you’re ready to–if you’ll ever be ready to. You feel a strange tightness in your chest. It hurts, it really does.

You’ve been wounded in the line of duty before. You didn’t expect to be wounded in your own home. Not by the man who's supposed to love you wholly.

In sickness and in health–you laugh. Tim could stand by his ex wife, Isabel, all through her addiction but he couldn’t stand by you. “What…” you choke, “what did I do?” there had to be something you were missing; some catastrophic way you had messed up and ruined everything.

“You didn’t do anything.”

Your eyes dart around. The room that you and Tim shared. The room that held so many memories—all tainted, now. The sheets are messed up, there’s clothes on the floor. A bra, panties, neither yours. Your gun clatters to the ground and the safety’s on, thankfully. Not that you’d care. Some physical hurt would pair with the emotional kind nicely–distract from it if you were lucky.

You were far from lucky.

Eyes watering, hands shaking, you raise them to keep distance between you and Tim. He’s approaching like you’re some feral animal he’s afraid to startle. “It’s not what it looks like.”

You laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “It is though, Tim. It really is.” You shake your head back and forth, not understanding. “Why—why couldn’t you have just asked for a… a divorce? Why did you have to go and…” Tears run down your cheeks. You wipe them away frantically feeling embarrassed—you knew this was coming. You knew what was going to happen so why did your heart feel like it was shattering? “Why did you have to cheat on me?”

“It wasn’t planned… I wouldn’t… You have to believe me, it was a mistake.”

“No, no. A mistake is forgetting to change over the laundry. A mistake is not taking out the trash. This… this isn’t a mistake.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“Do you love her?”

He didn’t say a thing.

“Do you love her?!” you screamed.

“I… I don’t know.”

An ‘I don’t know’. He threw everything away over an ‘I don’t know’.

Tim took a step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you flinched away. His face twisted with desperation but a flicker of understanding was there too– you didn’t want him to understand. You didn’t know how he could.

"I never meant for this to happen. I got confused, I—"

"Don’t." Your eyes were full of tears you refused to let loose. "Don't lie to me. You’ve done enough. You chose her after… after all we’ve been through. You, me, my family.”

“I never believed the marriage trap cops fall into. When my buddies wouldn’t come to our wedding because it was my first?” You laugh bitterly, “cliches are cliches for a reason, I guess!”

The sadness morphs slowly, turning into a building rage. “Where is she?” You march over to the bed, flipping the duvet up onto the mattress and peering underneath. “Not under the bed!” the curtains are the next to go, “not behind the curtains!”

“Y/n, you need to calm down,”

You laugh, feeling manic as you rip the curtains down. Light pours into the room but today is anything but bright. The last spot you check is the closet and there she is. Lucy Chen stares at you from behind the sweaters hanging in your closet. Lucy Chen. Lucy mother fucking Chen. Like a sister to you and… you laugh. “You know what—“ your voice breaks, “you can have him! And while you’re at it take some of my fucking clothes,” her face is bright red, her eyes wide and regretful? You don’t care. You can’t find it in you to.

Her hands are the only thing covering her body. You can’t breathe–she’s your friend and she was sleeping with your husband. Your husband! You start throwing things. Your clothes, the hangers they’re on, your shoes, “have these too!” you shout. You pick up a book preparing to launch it at her and then your hands are being forced behind your back as you scream and spit and curse. Tear tracks are prominent and maybe you are a feral animal because you don’t even hear the words whispered to you as cuffs click onto your wrists and you’re taken down to the station.

“I want a lawyer!” you scream and he appears. Lopez’s husband, (not a cheater! You refuse to speak to another one of those) Wesley Evers, approaches you with a frown on his face and his brows crinkled in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re not pressing charges,” Tim says, “she just needs to calm down… she assaulted officer Chen and–”

“What the hell is going on?!” Wesley’s question is repeated in a booming voice and this time, it’s your father asking. The chief of police is standing in the middle of the hallway glaring daggers at Tim Bradford, the man he used to go golfing and to get coffee with. He storms over. “Why is my daughter under arrest? Talk, Bradford. Now.”

“Sir, I… maybe it’s best that we talk somewhere else.”

People are staring. Colleagues, civilians waiting to file complaints.

You smile. Sweet, fake, heartbroken. “We’re getting a divorce, dad. He cheated on me with Chen… I… Tim, you said you aren’t pressing charges so let me go, okay? We’re done, this is all done.” Tim passes the keys to your dad who unlocks the cuffs. Wesley still hasn’t managed to slink away so you turn to him. “I need a divorce lawyer. Are you multi-talented or do you know someone? I don’t care about the house, he can have it, but I want Kojo–our dog.”

“You can’t–”

“Officer Bradford I’m going to recommend you leave,” says your dad, ever the diplomat. “Take the day off, get out of my precinct.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s Chief.”

“Yes Chief.”

Then Tim’s gone, the cuffs are off, and you’re being led into your fathers office. He lectures you because you’re a cop and you’re held to a higher standard because you wear the badge. He lectures you because you’re better than this and because you should know better. But after all of that he hugs you. He holds you while you cry and tighter, when you tell him, still sobbing, “I’m pregnant, dad.”

#tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x reader #the rookie fanfic #the rookie x reader

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revasserium · 1 year ago

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nxx #2 - the best part

artem.

you are the best part of a monday morning, the soft click of heels, the whish of automatic doors, the light tap-tap of fingers on tablets. he knows just where you’ll be, a soft frown caught between your eyebrows; sometimes, when during meetings, or even just when he’s passing by your desk, he wishes he could reach over to smooth it over with a fingertip. when it’s late enough, he thinks about trying. other times, when it’s late-late enough — he actually does. and he’d sink into your startled gasp of laughter, the way you go slightly cross-eyed as he leans back to grin, shaking his head, “don’t frown like that… your face will get stuck.” and when you crinkle your nose and swat at his hand, your cheeks going the kind of pink that makes him think of every single sunset he’s yet to see, every single sunrise that’s still to kiss the sky, he has to stop himself from letting his fingers graze down to trace against your skin. “no it won’t…” but there’s no real conviction in your voice, and there’s something brilliant in the secret smile you share. “you’re right,” he admits, “but… i’m not sure i like it when i think about how often you frown in my presence.” he savors in the way you blush then, the way you press your lips, the startled and then resolute way you square your shoulders before saying, “then… i guess you should try to make me smile more often.” artem blinks for a second, and then — “sure… it’s a promise then. but... you’ll have to stay with me long enough for me to see it through.”

luke.

you are the best part of a september afternoon, his cardigan slipping off your shoulder as you pour through your work files. and even though he still feels some kinda way about you doing work while you’re with him — well — he looks down at his own pile of casefiles — he can’t really blame you anyway. birds of a feather and all. he grins as he glances up, only to find you smiling. “what?” you blush, looking away, “nothing — just… this is nice.” it’s his turn to blush now. and yes, he thinks, because this is what he loves — just this, just the moments in between, the quiet breaths and the unsaid words and the afternoon filtering through the autumn leaves, the coffee still lukewarm on the table between you. he takes a breath and looks at you, really looks at you — because he can’t remember a time when he didn’t know you, when he hasn’t loved you just like this — with the pure, simplicity of a september afternoon, as certain as tides, as simple as a child’s knowledge that this is the person he never wants to leave his life. “yeah,” he says, grinning broadly at you as he reaches over tug a strand of your hair between his fingers, “everything is nice when it’s with you.”

vyn.

you are the best part of every winter day, the distant, slanted light working its strange magic over the world, casting everything in its ethereal glow. “there’s just something about the winter sun,” you’d said one day, peering over towards the far horizon, shielding your eyes from the light, pausing as the pair of you walk hand in hand towards the corner store for something or other (vyn’s long since forgotten the minutia for the memory of you). he’d raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, waiting for you to continue, and after a second, you had, turning back towards him with frost-nipped cheeks and brilliant, snow-drop eyes, laughing as you wave at the casual, neighborhood scenery around you, “it makes everything look more beautiful, doesn’t it? like… it’s a dream, or some of those old fashioned picture filters…” to which vyn had smiled and gripped your hand just a bit tighter, “yes… i’ve always thought that winter was the most nostalgic season. it makes you miss a time that hasn’t yet come to pass. perhaps… a future with someone you love, no?” and he’d watched, fascinated, enraptured as you’d blushed and turned away, tugging him behind you, mumbling something about being unfair. and he thinks that if anyone were ever unfair — it’d undoubtedly be you.

marius.

you are the best part of a friday night — your laughter like the city lights, your smile, a million moons in a million distant skies, the shape of you dozing beside him in the back of limo, your cheeks kissed pink from all the wine. he thinks he could cup forever in the palm of his hands like this, thread your fingers with his and suddenly, he’s more sober than he’s ever been in his entire life, watching you nodding off next to him. he thinks he can see the next twenty, thirty, shit forty years of his life flashing outside along with the neon-night-skies, the way your lashes cast shadows along the high of your cheeks, the way your earrings rest against the bend of your neck. “mm… marius?” you ask, blinking sleepily up at him as the limo pulls to a quiet halt at a stoplight, your perfume making an absolute mess of his mind, and he has to clear his throat to hide just how many butterflies had exploded in the pit of his stomach at the sound of your sleep-sweetened voice — “i-it’s late… you can keep sleeping if you want… i’ll wake you up when we get home.” to which you’d leaned up and pressed as soft kiss to his cheek and it takes everything inside him not to pull you to him, press you into the limo seat and kiss you till the entire world melts away, “thanks… you should sleep too,” you say, nuzzling into the side of his neck, your breath chasing shivers up and down his spine. “y-yeah… i — i’ll try."

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tumblerislovetumblerislife · 28 days ago

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WIP Word Train

rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

thanks for the tags @dear-monday and @roseganymede95 <3 i ended up going with TORCH

these are from various aus/post-canon fics, some more finished than others lmao

T - There was one open case, decades old by now, whose name had never appeared in the Dead Boy Detective Agency casefile, which had never been so much as recorded in their overflowing archives – except in Charles’ mind, and the secret notes buried in the deepest confines of his pet pocket dimension.

O - “Oh, love, let’s not say things we don’t mean,” Charles laughed, spreading his legs enough for Edwin to slot perfectly in the space between. “I know some of those tomes are the literary loves of your unlife.”

R - Ravishing, that was a good sign, right? Unless it wasn’t. Unless Edwin had a thing for bad poetry.

C - Charles glanced over instantly, a raised eyebrow asking, You alright? Edwin nodded tightly, smiled. The client miraculously did not notice, still prattling on about finding every single last of his descendants still on earth – which would, in and of itself, be a miracle, by the sound of the man’s adventurous youth.

H - Hell only left behind the worst bits of living, anyway, his thundering heart and sweaty palms, a wild-eyed reflection in a mirror with no way through.

tagging without pressure @nix-nihili, @tragedy-machine, @aletterinthenameofsanity, @dont-offend-the-bees, your word is CHART <3

#dbda #dead boy detectives #wip word train #word train game #tltl fic #payneland #charles rowland #edwin payne

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randomfoggytiger · 11 months ago

Note

Do you have a list of comfort fics? Not them comforting each other but for when you're feeling wrecked and you just need something lovely to make it better?

randomfoggytiger's Comfort Fics

I'm not joking: I've reread more fics than I'll ever read new ones. My usual routine is to pop open Google docs, select an author, and mow down their list.

These three pieces were the ones that started it all; but I forgot to include @seek-its-opposite's photosensitivity. A+s, all of 'em.

Authors that I can't single out comfort fics from and can't tag because Tumblr is restricting my tag options: @baronessblixen, @settle-down-frohike, @onpaperfirst, @markwatneyandenesemble, Lapsed_Scholar, Apostrophic, @ghostbustermelanieking, @o6666666, touchstoneaf, @welsharcher, @scenes-in-between, @mldrgrl, @spooky-nerd, @melforbes, etc.

**Note**: Will ghost edit later~

PART I

Bittersweet Comfort Fics

misslucyjane's Scully seeks insomnia advice from Mulder, and Mulder dies, then lovingly watches Scully live the rest of her life

Kipler's cancer arc set casefile involving WWII vets and letters

melforbes's cancer arc Mulder takes his new bride to the sea for her last spring, and Pre-IWTB Mulder and Scully finally have a home

MldrItsMe's AU Redux II Scully is REALLY suffering, and Sein und Zeit Mulder's suicidal confessions

@discordantwords's Mulder and Scully are almost killed by the Fiji mermaid

mixiz877's Mulder and Scully fight off a gryphon

@fbismostunwanted1158's Scully is beaten down ala Stella Gibson in The Fall

Joyce's S5 AU Mulder is killed, comes back to life to save Scully, and Mulder dies but stays as Scully's partner solving cases with her (Part 1, Part 2, and-- my favorite of the three-- its Halloween sequel)

@teethnbone's post Travelers fic with Mulder and Scully

@sarie-fairy's AU Tithonus love confession, Post Milagro Scully realizing what it feels like to be Mulder, and Post The Unnatural Scully is bleeding out on a failed Sasquatch hunt

@sigritandtheelves's Post Monday Scully remembers Mulder's death

whatliesabove's Post Milagro Scully stays dead (or does she?)

ChaneenW's Pre-IVF arc Mulder is shot into a parallel timeline, reliving the Small Potatoes adventure with Scully

dee_ayy's post Amor Fati recovery fic (with baseball)

@bohoartist's Sein und Zeit through Scully's eyes, and Post Closure Scully rescues a photo of baby Mulder

Lolabeegood's AU where S8 Mulder is returned with false memories (would also recommend Lolabee's IWTB era fics, btw.)

@dreamingofscully's AU S9 Skinner entices Mulder back into profiling... and it doesn't end well

@television-overload's Pre-IWTB Mulder surprises Scully with a baseball field (and his old self again)

@queeenpersephone's AU where IWTB Scully stuck it out with Mulder

@danascullysjournal's Post IWTB bonding fic between a discouraged Mulder and uplifting Scully

@kateyes224's Mulder and Scully content in their UH, and Mulder sells the UH, and Scully buys it

@realmofextremepossibility's Breakup Mulder waiting for Scully's return Part I and Part II.

vulcanscully's Post Breakup Scully stops hearing from Mulder and assumes the worst

enigmaticdr's AU post IWTB Scully thinks she has cancer again (she's pregnant), Breakup Mulder is defeated at their anniversary dinner, AU where Revival Scully gets cancer, and The Revival baby laughs for the first time

prufrockslove's AU Mulder is a Welsh prince, Scully is his betrothed bride, and lots of Prince John high court drama ensues (part I of a sweeping, interconnecting AU series)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #fic #randomfoggytiger's Comfort Fics #asks #calimanc #Comfort Fics #xfiles #x-files #the x files #xf fanfic #mine

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sinsiriuslyemo · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Perfect

Pairing: Jim Gordon/Reader

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: You should've known that Valentine's Day with Jim would be perfect, even when you hated Valentine's Day.

Notes: Happy Valentine's Day!

Warning: fluff and cheese incoming.

You had never been a fan of Valentine’s Day. Even when you were in a relationship, it had always seemed to you like a day that only benefitted corporate America. Not that you hated the excuse to be romantic with Jim, but the point was that you never really needed an excuse. The two of you were romantic with each other all the time. Part of you wanted to insist that you skip any silly Valentine’s Day celebration or grand gestures and just spend it the way you would spend any other Wednesday, but the look on his face when he proudly proclaimed over breakfast a few days before that he had thought of the perfect Valentine's Day activity kept your cynicism at bay. He seemed so excited. Who were you to yuck his yum?

“So, listen, what I was thinking was that we could recreate our first date,” he said as the two of you got into his car to head home on Monday.

You furrowed your brows. “Uh… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be cute and romantic.”

Your brows shot up over your eyes, but apparently he hadn’t noticed.

“We can go to that little Italian place, and then go for a walk in the theatre district,” he said, and your expression returned to one of bewilderment. “Maybe even stop at that same little street cart off of Monroe and get some —”

“That was our second date,” you said.

He narrowed his eyes, looking over at you as you came to a stop at a red light. “Wait a minute, are you saying you count what was supposed to be our first date as our actual first date?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because we got called into a murder scene before we even got to the restaurant and then spent practically the entire night going over casefiles of similar MOs and waiting on DNA evidence,” he replied.

“Yeah, so? It was still our first date,” you insisted.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I say it stopped being our first date the moment we were interrupted and had to go to work.”

“Are you kidding? We got to spend the whole night together,” you argued with a smile.

“The whole night looking over other murders instead of eating at a restaurant. Yeah, some date. I didn’t even kiss you at the end of the night.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have kissed at the end of the first date anyway,” you teased.

“Oh really? Cause I seem to remember your hands wandering a bit on our do-over date,” he teased.

“I told you, you had dust on your pants,” you answered, trying to contain a smile.

“Oh, that’s right,” he conceded. “Anyway, that night was our first date. Not the one where we didn’t even get to go to dinner.”

“We did have dinner, it was just shitty takeout at the precinct. We still talked, we still got to know each other more. And we danced to the copy machine!”

Jim smiled at the memory.

“Why would you wanna erase that? That was romantic and cute in it’s own special way. I mean, okay, I agree, the murder was a bit too much blood for a first date —”

“You think?”

“Okay, but I don’t focus on the moments that weren’t ideal first date scenarios. I think about the conversation we had while we were waiting on the DNA to come back, and the shitty take out while we were going through old case files looking for similar MOs, and dancing to the copy machine! Seriously, who can say that they’ve danced to a copy machine?”

“Probably not that many people,” he mumbled, sighing after a moment, but apparently refusing to concede. “I still don’t count that as our first date. At best it was maybe a dress rehearsal.”

“A dress rehearsal?”

“Yeah, dress rehearsal,” he answered, the corner of his lips curling after a moment. “You wore that little black dress with the feather prints on it that buttoned down the front.”

You smiled to yourself as you remembered the look on his face when he first saw you in that dress. “I like that dress.”

“Me too,” he replied, pulling up to the curb in front of your building. “Hugged you in all the right places and showed just enough to make me want to undo all those buttons. It drove me crazy.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I mean, I knew you liked it, I didn’t realize you liked it that much,” you said, getting out of the car and waiting for him to reach you on the sidewalk before you walked into the building together.

“I still think about you in it sometimes,” he murmured in your ear while the two of you made your way to the elevator.

Your cheeks warmed and you bit down on your bottom lip, slinking your arm around his. “You looked really good that night too. You should roll up your sleeves to your elbows more often.”

Smirking to himself, he followed you into the elevator and pushed the button for your floor, turning to you when the doors closed. “So you concede that was a dress rehearsal and not actually our first date?”

“No way,” you answered, smiling when he groaned.

“You’re telling me you had more fun that night than on our real first date?”

“Second date.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You had more fun that night than on our next date?”

“Well played,” you replied. “It’s not about whether I had more fun, it’s that it was so memorable that I don’t want to let it go just because there was a little blood and a couple dead bodies.”

“A little blood?”

“Okay, a lot of blood. That night is still special to me,” you answered. “Even though it wasn’t what we planned, even though it wasn’t ideal, it’s ours.”

He sighed softly, but it wasn’t until the elevator stopped on your floor and you were standing at your front door, waiting for him to unlock it that he turned to you, opening the door to let you in and said, “Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

“Yes,” you whispered, grinning as he locked the door behind you both.

“That doesn't exactly help me though,” he said, tossing his keys on the foyer table. “I can’t recreate that night.”

“You don’t have to, we can recreate our second date like you wanted —”

“Yeah, but the whole romance of it was that I was recreating our first date,” he answered.

“Oh Jim, I don't care about that. I don’t care what we do as long as we’re together. I don’t need anything fancy, I just need you.” You took off your gun and badge and set them on the counter.

“I know, but we didn’t get to spend Valentine’s Day together last year,” he said.

“That’s cause Ramirez got the flu,” you replied.

“Well, still, it’s gonna be our first Valentine’s Day that we spend together. I just want it to be special.”

Smiling at him, you wrapped your arms around his trunk, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. “It’ll be special no matter what we do because I’ll be spending the night with you.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he replied, seeming to let it go.

Jim had arranged the schedule so that he would be off while you only worked one shift on Valentine’s Day, which was nice enough for you. You didn’t need anything extravagant to make the day special and you certainly didn’t need the entire day. Still, Jim would not be deterred; from the moment you got home at five thirty, you were greeted with white and red rose petals that led from the front door down the hallway. Instinctively, you smiled at the gesture, but when you looked up to find Jim, he was nowhere to be seen.

The cop in you kicked in for a moment after you called out to him, but got no answer. That was unusual — even when Jim was busy doing something, he would always answer when you called out to him after getting home, and you always did the same. There was a faint sound coming from the bedroom and you instinctively pulled out your gun, following the rose petals down the hall.

“Jim?”

Still no answer, but the noise was a bit clearer as you neared the bedroom. Music. And it was a song you vaguely recognized, but still couldn’t quite make out. Using your foot, you pushed the bedroom door open and scanned the room. Everything looked normal except for the music, which you now realized was coming from the adjoining bathroom. The lights were dimmed, but you didn’t see or hear any sign of Jim, and you started to think the worst. Raising your gun, you slowly made your way toward the bathroom, using your foot again to push the door open.

“Whoa!” Jim exclaimed, instinctively putting his hands up. “Hi. Can you put the gun down please, sweetheart?”

With a sigh, you lowered your weapon. “You didn’t answer, you scared the tits off me. I started to think something terrible happened.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you,” he said, coming up to you. It was at that point that you realized he was wearing a bathrobe. Looking around, you saw tea candles all around the bathroom, a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne chilling inside it and a bowl of strawberries. The tub was filled with a steaming bubble bath, and the music that played made you grin to yourself as you began to recognize it.

“Wow,” you said.

“Yeah, wow. Let’s put the gun down,” he suggested, gently taking the gun from your hand and setting it on the vanity. “And let’s get your clothes off.”

“That song…” you said as he unbuttoned your flannel shirt.

Jim smirked at you. “It’s the one that was on the radio when we were coming back from the docks the day we met.”

“I can’t believe you even remember that,” you said.

He pushed your shirt over your shoulders, kissing one while he lowered your bra strap off the other. “Of course I remember that,” he whispered against your skin, one hand going to unhook your bra to pull that off as well. “I remember everything that has anything at all to do with you.”

You shivered as he lay kisses along the side of your neck, his hands busying themselves with unbuckling your belt before he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants. He pushed them down, waiting for you to toe out of your shoes before he helped you step out of your khakis and looked you over.

“Christ, you are so beautiful,” he purred, pulling you against him.

You hummed at the feel of his soft robe against your nipples, your hands moving to the sash on the front, untying it and pushing it open to expose his bare chest.

“This is really beautiful,” you said as you pushed the robe off of him.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. “I may have ordered dinner from that shitty take out place.”

“The one from our first date?” you teased, taking your underwear off the rest of the way before doing the same with your socks.

“Don’t start that again,” he replied, gesturing to the tub with his head. “Go on, hop in.”

The two of you sat on opposite ends of the tub, your legs intertwined while he reached for a champagne flute, handing it to you before he picked up the bottle from the ice bucket.

“How was first shift?” he asked playfully.

“Not bad. Actually pretty quiet, criminals must’ve thought to take the day off or something.”

“There’s a first,” he mumbled, pouring some of the bubbly drink into your glass before he poured himself one. Putting the bottle back into the ice bucket, he toasted with you. “Well, we have the rest of the night all to ourselves.”

“What’s on the docket?” you asked, lifting yourself a bit to pick out a strawberry for you to eat.

“I thought we could relax in the bath for a bit, and then have dinner while we watch a movie. You choose whichever film you want.”

“You’re gonna hate me,” you said with a wince, taking a bite of your strawberry.

“I could never hate you,” he replied.

“I kinda wanna binge-watch Dance Moms.”

He nodded and lowered his eyes. “Okay, I hate you a little bit.”

You laughed with the back of your hand over your mouth. “We can watching something else if —”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he assured you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I said you could choose. I meant it.” He picked up a strawberry for himself and took a bite.

“All of this is amazing, Jim. Thank you so much.”

He smiled back at you, seemingly satisfied with himself. The hand not holding his flute grazed along your calf, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he swallowed what was in his mouth. “Look, I know you’re not one for Valentine's Day celebrations —”

“I never said that,” you answered.

“I heard you talking to Stephens about it last week,” he said. “And you’re right about one thing, we don’t need a special day to be romantic. We never have. But if there’s an occasion that gives me an excuse to pull out all the big guns, I’m gonna take it every single time. Because you deserve it.”

You smiled at him, taking a sip from your flute. “That’s fair. And you really do romance so well, it’d be a shame for those skills to go to waste.”

He winked at you. “My thoughts exactly. And I’m even willing to overlook that you’re a Valentine’s Scrooge —”

You gasped playfully, using your heels to slide yourself closer to him. “I am not a Scrooge.”

“You snarled at the Valentine’s decorations in the lobby of the precinct just yesterday,” he reminded you with a smirk. “And rolled your eyes at the guy selling flowers off of seventh the day before. Face it, honey, you hate Valentine’s Day.”

There was a brief moment of silence as you let his words linger in the air, relieved that he didn’t seem to be taking your aversion to the holiday personally.

“Okay, so I do, a little bit “ you conceded. “You know it’s just an excuse for corporate America to cash in. If you love someone you shouldn’t need capitalism to tell you when to be romantic.”

“That’s true, and I’ll admit that chocolates are always way overpriced around Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes! They know. They know people will buy them, so they mark up the prices and then sit in their gaudy mansions and laugh their asses off because not only have they just made bank off of the hopeless romantics and the saps, but also people praise them for it. And don’t even get me started on the damn teddy bears.”

“Okay, no. Please do not talk about the teddy bears,” he begged, picking up a strawberry and stuffing it between your lips. “I want us to enjoy the night together, and as much as I love watching you get all riled up, I do not want to listen to you rant all night.”

You bit into the strawberry and turned to slide your bottom between his legs, your back to his chest. “Just so you know, if I ever find myself enjoying Valentine’s Day, it’s because I’m spending it with you. Everybody else can eat a dick.”

He snorted into his champagne flute as he took a drink, trying not to spit it out. Swallowing, he pressed his nose against your hair.

“All this though,” you continued, looking around the room with a lazy smile. “All this is amazing.”

“You like it?” he mumbled into your ear.

“Mhm,” you hummed, snuggling back against him. “It’s making me think maybe Dance Moms isn’t exactly the right tone.”

“I didn’t wanna say anything, but yeah, Dance Moms — however fascinating — isn’t exactly the most romantic,” he answered. He set down his flute and gently began to massage your shoulders.

“You’re right,” you said, relaxing against his touch. “How about Breathless? You said you’ve never seen it.”

“Yeah, I could go for that.” He dropped a kiss on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jim,” you answered, turning your head to kiss his lips. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but you’re an amazing boyfriend. I’ve never been so happy.”

You felt his mustache twitch and just knew he was smiling.

“That makes two of us,” he whispered into your ear.

The two of you stayed in the bathtub a while longer, leisurely washing each other and taking small breaks to share a series of kisses every now and again. Eventually the water began to cool past the point of being comfortable, and Jim helped you out of the tub and into the shower to warm back up and rinse the bubbles off you. All the while, Jim doted on you with praises, kisses and sensual touches. Afterwards, he wrapped you in a fluffy robe that matched the one he’d had on when you came in.

He brought the bucket that held the bottle of champagne and both your flutes while you took your gun into the bedroom, setting it on the dresser. The two of you got dressed — you in a oversized t shirt and him in a pair of soft flannel pants — and went into the living room. Jim stopped off in the kitchen to reheat the takeout and bring it over to the couch before you played the movie.

After you finished eating, Jim excused himself to the bathroom while you picked up all the garbage from dinner, and poured you both some more champagne. When he came back out, he snuggled up with you on the couch, spooning you from behind and finished the movie with you.

All in all it had been one of the best Valentine’s Days you’d ever had, your feelings on the actual holiday notwithstanding. Though you had no idea that there was one surprise left.

When you walked into the bedroom later that night, there were rose petals and hershey kisses scattered on the bed, a full box of your favorite chocolates leaning against your pillow. He must have set it all up when he’d gone to the bathroom earlier. And even though you had already known it all along, you realized just how lucky you were to be with Jim Gordon.

#jim gordon fanfic #jim gordon x reader #jim gordan #gary oldman #valentines day #fluff

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robin-the-enby · 5 years ago

Text

Confusing feelings

Pairing: Abe Sapien x OC

Summary: Abe meets a creature he's only ever read about.

Warnings: Probably very long with grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), a little bit of violence

A/N: I've been thinking about making this into a full book on my Wattpad account. I already have one English book there, so if you're a Moomins fan, go check it out, the name is TheDarkSide019 .

* * * * *

Fridays never really meant anything at BPRD, apart from it being the most chaotic day of the week. I mean, it's not like they didn't have to work at weekends. They did. And that sucked, as Liz said many times.

The last few weeks were pretty calm, nothing big was happening and there wasn't any danger that could wipe out humanity.

That meant Abe, Liz and Hellboy could have more free time.

Liz finally accepted herself as she is and her and Red's relationship has been just great. They were spending most of their free time with the other, doing all sorts of things and going on all sorts of little adventures at BPRD.

Abe didn't have anyone he would be this close with and he definitely didn't want to be a third wheel, even though he thought that if he asked to, Hellboy and Liz would let him hang out with them. Of course, there were some agents that came to the library, which used to be dr. Broom's office, to ask him all kinds of questions, some more interesting than others, but as the kind-hearted soul he was, he answered them all with patience. If he could help, why wouldn't he do so?

But when the agents left, he was all alone once again. Alone. That word tasted bitter on his tongue. However, this alone felt different than how he ever felt before. He was so lonely it was distracting. Soon he couldn't even read books with how distracted he was. So his days were spent in his tank, just quietly thinking about what was it that he lacked.

However he didn't lack anything, it was his soul that was weeping. Every time Abe saw Hellboy with Liz, his soul cried out a little. He was happy for them, he really was, but there was something about the sight that made him feel a wide range of emotions at once. He was confused.

If you're confused, you can just ask someone, he told himself. So he went to the first person he thought could help him understand his feelings a bit more. Liz.

"You're jealous Abe." was the answer he got. It was simple, but genuine and said with care. She wasn't mad in any way, but she didn't see a reason to beat around the bush.

But that's ridicoulus. Abe thought. "What do you mean jealous? I'm not jealous, in fact I am very happy for you two." Liz laughed at his confusion. "You're not jealous of me or Red, Abe. You're jealous of what we have. Maybe you don't realize it, but inside, you want it too. A relationship, I mean." He didn't look much wiser than before and she shook her head a little "Look. I'm not saying I'm right, but from what you've just told me it looks like it. It's normal, everybody sometimes feels like this when they've been single for a long time. Just think about it and if anything, you can talk to me." she reassured him. He nodded and slowly stood up. He only managed to mumble out a 'bye' before slipping through the door. He didn't even notice Hellboy who was coming to see Liz in her room. Red said hi, but he didn't recieve an answer, so deep in thought Abe was. Red turned his head to look at him, then shrugged and entered the room of his beloved girlfriend.

"What's up with Abe?" he then asked Liz and pointed at the door with his thumb like the said man was just behind it. "He's lonely." Liz explained. "What do you mean? He's always been kinda lonely." Red didn't understand. Sometimes Abe would rant to him how he felt a little lonely sometimes, like there was no one that could fully understand him. But he almost immediately after said that he didn't mind and was grateful for everything and everyone he had. "Yeah, but he's that kind of lonely that you were when I left." she said, trying to light up the mood a little. Although, they both knew it was true. "Poor man." Red shook his head and sighed.

Abe immediately went into his tank after arriving in the library. How could one be jealous of a non-materialistic thing? That's ridicoulus. Although, he had to admit, it would be nice to have someone you can hold, trust and rely on, to share all the nice and bad things with and who would hold, trust and rely on him and want to share all those things with him too. Oh, that's how.

The next day his mind was still overloaded with thoughts. In the morning Red stopped by and asked how he was doing and if he wanted to hang out with him and Liz later. Abe politely declined, saying he needs to sort some things out. In my head. he added, but not out loud.

Unknown to him or the other two, who were a little worried about him, things were going to get exciting in just a moment.

Manning recieved a newspaper with a very strange title right on homepage. He was told by the agent who brought the thing, that the local police doesn't know what to do anymore. It was time to call the special agents.

Abe was forcefully pulled out from his thoughts by the library door opening. In came Manning with a few other agents, Liz and Hellboy trailling behind them. When Abe looked at their joined hands, his soul cried out yet again, but now he knew why. It was refreshing and frustrating at the same time, which left him as he was the days prior. Confused.

"What's so important that you have to pull us away from our day off?" Red asked and Manning decided to ignore him, because getting mad would not get him anywhere. "We've recieved an anonymus tip about paranormal activity going on in Scotland. Look at this." he handed Hellboy the newspaper. Red took it from him and looked at the homepage. There, in bold, capital letters was a title: TWO MEN DEAD AT A LOCAL LAKE. ONLY REMAINS FOUND ARE HEARTS AND LIVERS. "That's nice." Red commented. Then he came over to Abe's tank, where Abe was practically glued to the front glass wall, to show it to him. He watched as Abe's eyes scanned the title "What do you think it is pal?"

Abe thought for a while, blinking owlishly once or thrice. Just as they thought he maybe wasn't paying attention, Abe turned to look at them "I don't know. There are lots and lots of water creatures, but I can't recall a single one that doesn't eat a part of their victim."

His interest has been piqued. "A new creature perhaps?" Liz piped up, her gate set on the paper laying now on one of the tables. Manning sighed an annoyed sigh "Great." "Or a one we don't have much information about." Abe said. "Either way, I want you to catch it and bring it back for studying. The details will be given to you later today." "So wait, we're actually going to Scotland?" Liz asked excitedly. "You bet'cha babe." Hellboy smirked and wrapped one arm around her waist.

Abe was excited. Finally something distracted him from his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what creature could've caused this. He tried to narrow it to water beasts from The brittish islands, but that didn't really help, there were still too many options and too little information.

Another thing he didn't really like was how Manning said studying. Oh he was going to keep an eye on that. There will be no harmful experiments on his watch. No cutting, probing, chemical testing, nothing. That just wasn't right and even if he believed Manning was a good man, he knew how he treated those of different species.

They gave the trio all known information. The lake was near a small town that was build for people who worked in a nearby ink factory. It was that type of town where everyone knew each other.

They all left on Sunday evening and by Monday morning they were already there. It was necessary, all citizens will be at work or at school so there will be a near zero percent chance of someone seeing the trio.

The sky was grey as the water that reflected it, gentle breeze making small waves on the water surface. The lake was surrounded by reeds that swayed ever so slightly and rustled quietly. There were a few spots where the reeds had been cut, probably for people who wanted to fish. Strange thing was that there weren't any animals, usually this place would be full of water birds and insects, but here everything seemed dead. It was a little depressing.

Hushed voices of Liz and Hellboy could be heard with the rustling. Liz liked the idea of getting out of BPRD from the beggining and when they arrived, she fell in love with the place. Abe had to admit, the scenery all around them was beautiful. But he could feel that something wasn't right here.

A young agent called out to them to get their attention. He beckoned them over to where he was standing. They came to one of the fishing spots where remains of footsteps were highlighted by the police. "You got anything for us?" Hellboy asked. The agent nervously gulped "Well, you'll need to know what happened, before you start investigating." he said with a shaky voice. "And you know that?" asked Liz. The agent opened the casefile, which wasn't really thick "Well, two victims went to an inn after work. They were fairly tipsy, but didn't come in a vehicle, so the innkeaper let them go. And now this is where it gets interesting. The footsteps lead straight into the water, like they did it from their own will. Bodies were never found, the only remains are their hearts and livers which were thrown in the reeds over there." he pointed to the place where they had been found.

It wasn't much, but at least it was something new. "Thank you for your help." Abe thanked the young man. He then scurried off somewhere without saying anything.

There wasn't really anything to do now, Abe still didn't have enough information to figure out what exactly they were dealing with here. They decided it would be best to look around and hopefully find something new.

"Do we know where this thing could be?" Liz asked. "Well, because the victims were lured into the lake, I think it's safe to assume it lives there." Abe explained, even though he thought she could have figured that out on her own. "Well, if we won't find anything usefull, you're going to have to dive down there." Hellboy said and gestured to the lake with his head. Abe sighed "I know." Although he was excited, they still didn't know anything and he wouldn't like to go there unprepared.

As they were walking, Abe pointed out the lack of animals at this place. "Well, they could be just scared from all the people suddenly showing up." Liz shrugged.

Soon they were on the opposite side of the lake and nothing strange had happened so far. They could see meadows upon meadows everywhere and even those looked empty. There wasn't anything alive, only a horse on one of the meadows. Wait, a horse??

Liz softly gasped "Look, a horse!" and immediately started to go towards it. Red and Abe looked at each other uncertainly, not knowing if it was safe, but they trailed behind her nonetheless. What could a horse possibly do?

The closer they got to it, the worse feeling settled in Abe's gut. Liz was already standing next to it, petting it softly.

It was beautiful. But something felt off. It's fur was white like fresh snow and clean, even though it was standing on a meadow with no fence around it. How was it so clean when it probably didn't belong to anyone? If Abe could frown, he would. The horse was peacfully munching on the grass, until Liz touched it. It lifted it's head up, showing them the deepest dark blue eyes that they've ever seen. They looked almost...hypnotizing.

"Do you think it'd let me ride it?" Liz wondered. She was looking into the horses eyes and her voice sounded quiet and soft, like she was daydreaming. Abe found it strange for the girl to be so enamoured by a simple horse, but it seemed he was the only one.

Hellboy picked up his girlfriend and set her gently on the horses back. She sat there for a while, before trying to run her hands through its mane.

It was as white as the rest of its body, without any knots. "Somebody has gone for a swim, eh?" Liz cooed at the animal. And aparently wet too.

Abe stared at the horse, deep in thought. It didn't belong to anybody, it was beautiful and enchanting. It just encouraged you to ride it. Abe looked at its mane, small droplets still dripping down. If it went into the lake, it must have been before we got here. Wouldn't it be dry now?

It was just encouraging you to ride it. Encouraging....encouraging...luring...

And then it clicked.

"Liz, you need to get down. Now." Abe said, urgency evident in his voice. Hellboy registered it before Liz, who seemed in some sort of dreamy trance, sensing the tone he immediately felt unnerved and went to retrieve his girl.

"Give me your hand babe." he said gently. Liz blinked, suddenly confused. It took her a few seconds to process what did he want her to do, but when she was going to lift her hand, she realized she was stuck.

"Red." she said, her voice quiet "I can't take my hads off it." Hellboy looked confused "What do you mean you can't-"

It happened so suddenly. By now everyone figured that the cteature wasn't a regular horse and could in fact understand everything that had been said. Like a lightning from a clear sky it took off in a fascinating speed. Hellboy cried out his loves name while Abe's breath has been stolen. He finally understood what was going on and Liz was in deep trouble.

At this point both of them were running after the two. But they could never match the speed of the beast. Liz knew she had to do something when she saw where the creature was headed. She tried to concentrate on increasing the heat inside of her, until she burst into blue flames.

The creature let out a pained screech full of agony and fear and if it wasn't going in an unhuman speed before, it sure was now. Abe would later tell that it sounded nothing like a sound horses make. It resembled a human scream, but then times more terrifying.

All the agents looked from their work when they heard the commotion. And all of them jumped to their feet when a horse, that was on fire, ran past and straight into the water.

Liz could feel the water detaching her body from the beast. Even though she couldn't feel it anywhere around her, she still kept herself hot enough to boil it slightly.

Then she felt something grab her arm and pull her upwards. Thinking it was the beast she thrashed as much as she could, but when they broke to the surface and she could hear her boyfriend's shouts to try and calm her down, she stilled almost immediately.

Abe was surprised to see them both covered in some sort of black goo when they got out of the water. He pointed it out and told them it would be best to clean up. They didn't have anything against it and left him alone.

The next twenty minutes were chaotic. Agents ran all around the place, some tending to Liz, some questioning Abe and Red, some taking samples from the weird water and some looking for the Kelpie.

"A Kelpie? What's that?" Hellboy asked. "Well, it is a water creature living mostly in Scotland and Ireland. Because it's so far away from BPRD, we don't know much about it. That's why I couldn't figure it out for so long. However, what we do know is that in water it takes shape of a horse with a finn and on land of a beautiful horse or human." Hellboy grumbled "Well, I'm gonna kill it after they're done getting the information." if it was him it would go after, he wouldn't be surprised. But it dared lay a hoove on his Liz and that's a sin he can't forgive.

About thirty minutes later the trio joined the agents in looking for the Kelpie. They had to split up, which left Abe alone. Not that it was dangerous anymore, the Kelpie would be hurt. Abe was afraid it would die before he'd get his information and he scolded himself for feeling this way.

A few meters from him the reeds rustled and something dragging on the ground could be heard. That must be it. Abe thought. He stealthily crept to the spot and peeked between the reeds. And there it was.

It was a woman. She layed on her side, her back facing Abe. She was naked and covered in the substance from the water. Her back was badly burnt and she sounded exhausted, only shallow breaths and quiet noises of pain leaving her mouth.

He slowly came out of his hiding spot as to not scare her too much, but she was too weak to move. He came around her and saw her face. Without all the goo she'd be very beautiful. He didn't know if it'd be apropriate to calm her, so he just looked at her reasuringly, at least he tried to do so, and called to the nearby agents.

He felt strangely calm knowing the Kelpie was safe with the agents. He once again, couldn't understand his feelings. At least he could go home now.

* * * * *

Please leave a like and/or a comment if you want part two ;)

#abe sapien #abe sapien x reader #abe sapien x oc #hellboy x liz sherman #hellboy #liz sherman #kelpie #BPRD

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cauldronoflove · 4 years ago

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do you have dream fics? like, i guess, fic ideas you want to write sometime in the future, and/or fic ideas that you would love to write but don't have time for! ty!

oh absolutely! i'd say i have two top contenders, one is an x files casefile fic tht i started writing ages ago and just havent had the time to finish bc itd be a larger undertaking but basically scully and mulder are working a case where multiple brides have shown up dead on their wedding day in a small town in connecticut. it's one part ghosts, one part scully being snarky, another part mulder dealing with Feelings, and also a heavy dose of inspiration on part of that old "marry on monday for health, tuesday for wealth..." saying.

the other is a very long seaborn for president fic tht bounces around like three different timelines and is largely a study on sam's friendships and his convictions and like all kinds of in depth, meandering things tht i would love to write and have written a collective 3k of random scenes for but just. do not have it in me to write rn or in the foreseeable future. maybe one day though! i have one scene written out thts cj & sam tht i come back to and reread every now and then just to remind myself why i love this idea so much

#*spongebob narrator voice* ah yes. ze trials of having too many ideas and not enough attention span #personal

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beepbopboyathon · 5 years ago

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HC: any of your faves + what they stream on Twitch/YouTube (modern!)

What the main six like to stream/ watch

(I love modern au so much)

Asra

His regular youtube recommendations are the side of youtube that you end up in at 3am and reptile videos

This is a prime example of what he likes to watch

For background noise, he likes to turn on true crime podcasts where the hosts have a lot of character.

One of his favorite podcasts is The Last Podcast on the Left

On youtube, he also likes Stephanie Soo

His favorite reptile YouTuber is Go Herping, specifically the unboxing videos

Nadia

She likes informational and inspiring content

Nadia has watched almost every youtube video on Nail Career Education

She also frequently follows along with Bob Ross tutorials (She and Muriel have painting parties with his tutorials)

She adores Nathaniel Drew and first found him through his Learning Italian in 7 Days video.

She likes to watch cooking videos and has a whole box of recipes that she wants to try.

Nadia uses Yoga with Adriene to relax after a stressful day.

Julian

Lots of true crime and mystery

He likes the Medical Mysteries and Casefile podcasts on Spotify and he uses Last Podcast on the Left to help him stay awake when he pulls an all-nighter

He loves Nexpo type videos too

Julian has an interest in psychology so he will sometimes watch the Crash Course psychology lessons

He likes background sounds and he uses Creepypastas or R/LetsNotMeet readings but he rarely pays much attention to the actual stories.

He adores Chubbyemu videos

Portia

Drama channels and sims gameplays

Her background channel of choice is The Right Opinion

She watched the 100 baby challenge on the Buzzfeed Multiplayer

Bailey Sarian’s Mystery and Makeup Mondays is one of her favorite series

She probably has her own youtube channel tbh, I feel like she has all the information on beauty community drama before anyone else

She also watches strange aeons because she thinks that Teya’s very pretty and funny

Muriel

Very peaceful and relaxing content

Whenever he’s sad he watches this to make himself laugh

Speedpaints put him to sleep and it really annoys him when he’s trying to watch them, his favorite one to try and watch is Creativestation

He is Bob Ross’s biggest fan tbh

He once watched an hour long video of a man carving a spoon out of a block of wood.

Studio Ghibli movies off sketchy websites is his favorite form of entertainment

Jenna Marbles is also very good

Lucio

Beauty vloggers, drama channels and dance routines

Before he buys any skincare he watches several reviews of it

He’ll watch dance routines then criticize them and decide he could do better

Also really likes Gordon Ramsey

He likes closet tours especially with people who have a unique style

Ready to Glare is his favorite drama channel.

If yall have any headcanons you want to send (Especially modern au) i’m still taking requests :)

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #Julian The Arcana #the arcana nadia #the arcana asra #the arcana muriel #the arcana portia #the arcana lucio #the arcana julian #nadia the arcana #asra the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #count lucio

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randomfoggytiger · 1 year ago

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I started watching X-Files a couple of months ago and finally finished the whole show, plus the movies and revival. Jesus. I started looking at fanfic but am totally intimidated by HOW MUCH OF IT there is. Like. 30 years worth of it? Where do I even start? Do I read old stuff or new stuff? Are there any authors that have been writing since the 90’s? Who’s stuff should I be reading? What should I be reading? There are so many different kinds! (Okay, but not fluff, because The Ick.) (and only the shippy stuff because I am not a monster.) Where does one even start in this fandom?

Thanks for coming here, Anon-- I'll do my best~. ;)))

TLDR: If you want to read the classics-- the multi-chapter beasts hailed across The X-Files fandom-- I'd go to @lilydalexf's page and sort through her pinned Masterpost of recs; if you want my personal favorites, I've got my own complied Masterlist pinned, as well. If you want author suggestions, I listed a few below (but not all-- even of my personal favorites.) Older fics have a more "walled-off" approach to Scully and an edgier, distant approach to Mulder; newer fics have a more open approach to their exchange and dynamic. I prefer the latter, but that's likely because I was able to watch the show as a whole rather than episode by episode with a lot of guesswork in-between.

It's hard to pinpoint where to recommend you since I don't know your preferences; but here's a very loose attempt to do so:

I'm more of a short fic reader, but I'd recommend @melforbes, @slippinmickeys, @cecilysass, and @wexleresque for long chapters; @teethnbone, @leiascully, @aloysiavirgata, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @dreamingofscully, and @sarie-fairy for "atmospheric" writing; @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @television-overload, @invidiosa, @swinging-stars-from-satellites, @thescullyphile, @msrafterdark, and @edierone for well-balanced fluff/angst/humor/comfort fic/etc.; @o6666666, @ghostbustermelanieking, @mappingthexfiles/Apostrophic, and Lapsed_Scholar for their wonderful shorts (but especially Lapsed's Requiem AU compilations); @settle-down-frohike, @suitablyaggrieved, @amplifyme, @wtfmulder, @freckleslikestars, @lyndsaybones, @numinousmysteries, and Jenna Tooms/misslucyjane for their focus on Mulder and Scully as a "mature"-- for lack of a better word-- couple (no matter when their fics are set); @xxsksxxx and @writingwell write long-chaptered casefiles (my writingwell fic recs here might help?-- sorry for the codes, I was rushing out those notes); and if you want the authors everyone recommends, then @mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra (Masterlist) and prufrock’s love/plenilune (@lilydalexf links/descriptions here) are two of the many that fit the bill.

Other fic recs you might be interested in: @cecilysass's write more of these and Milagro recs, @enigmaticxbee mytharc and Scully family recs, @pennyserenade's reading recs, @two-microscopes shorter fic rec list, @nachosncheezies's slightly psychic Scully recs (describes three of the big x-files fics), etc. You want beautifully short poeticesque ficlets written and recced by @leiascully? Boom. You want Deadalive fic reccs? Kachow. You want opinions from the OGs? The aforementioned aloysiavirgata, amplifyme, baronessblixen, leiascully, suitablyaggrieved, cecilysass, settle-down-frohike, dreamingofscully, msrafterdark, as well as @iconicscullyoutfits and @myassbrokethefall (who write amazing meta, btw.)

Are you interested in AUs that write in Gillian Anderson's pregnancy? That have a storyline sans baby all together? That stick to canon all the way through the Revival? That stick to canon mostly, except for a bit of branching off here and there? Multiple Monday fics? Post Pine Bluff Variant processing? Mulder or Scully PTSD or panic attacks or hurt comfort? The many different flavors of Mulder's abduction or return? Casefiles (admittedly I stink at those)? My own fics (also in my pinned masterpost)? An author whose style you're interested in but would like a description of their work before making a long-term commitment? Lemme know~! :DDDD

Gotta run! Hope you like! (And sorry for any spelling errors~.)

#asks #anon #fandom #touched you came here-- thank you~!#though I don't know how helpful or clarifying this was for you XDDD #xf fanfic #txf #fic #rec

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kateyes224 · 5 years ago

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Been MIA from tumblr recently (1 year). What’s good in the x-files fandom?

NOTTA DAMN, SWEET ANON.

Except for my sweetheart @lepus-arcticus writing the most amazing casefile since forEVER (it's called Omens, she's crushing it and killing us softly every Monday and Thursday evening with new chapters) and some amazing new stuff from @leiascully and @scullywolf and @baronessblixen for Fictober, there's not a lot going on fandom-wise! But with GA currently filming The Crown S4 and about to release S2 of Sex Education, and David working on a third album (God help us) and a fourth novel with likely touring the country therefrom, things may pick up again soon!

Also I hear tell of a S12 being written by @slippinmickeys and others but have not yet checked it out!

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txf-fic-chicks-blog · 6 years ago

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Casefile Monday

To say just about anything about tonight’s rec would probably be to say too much. At just shy of 800 words, it’s about as quick a casefile as you can get away with reading in just a minute or two. It stays with you, though, this story, as you find yourself seeing through the eyes of the killer.

It’s from a writer we’re not super familiar with, but if tonight’s rec is any indication, you’ll probably be reading more of this author if we can help it.

Title: Legerdemain

Author: afg

Rating: PG-13

Length: 1K/700+ Words

Synopsis: leg·er·de·main/ˈlejərdəˌmān/noun skillful use of one's hands when performing conjuring tricks

Spoilers: None

Trigger Warnings: None we can think of

#casefile monday #txf fic chicks #xf fanfic #txf fanfic recommendations #msr fanfic #reading list #legerdemain #by: afg

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violetganache42 · 5 years ago

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Heron looks SO FUCKING OFFENDED in this frame and I absolutely love it! 🤣

#my photo #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales reboot #ducktales season 1 #top monday countdown #tales! reactions #from the confidential casefiles of agent 22!#black heron

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princesscatherinemiddleton · 5 years ago

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Quarantine questions

The lovely, wonderful, angelic queen that is @gloriousglorianas tagged me in these quarantine questions. I miss you, girl!

Are you staying home from work/school?

Nope! I’m a primary school teacher so I’m still working full time and also providing work for my kids who are at home. There aren’t too many children in school though, so I’ve had a lot of time to clean my classroom. I’ve just worked through the Easter holidays so somehow I’m working... more?

If you’re staying home, who is with you?

I still live at home because I moved back for my PGCE/NQT year. I live with my parents, my younger sister, her baby, and our dog. Honestly, it’s been hell. My mum is semi-retired but works from home Monday-Wednesday. My dad’s been furloughed. My sister is struggling with a 4 month old baby with severe colic. And my puppy doesn’t understand why he can’t go out with his friends and play with the dogs he meets in the street. I’ve never wanted my own place more.

Are you a homebody?

Yes! I’d happily spend weeks inside, but now the choice has been taken away, I want to go out all the time. I didn’t realise how much I loved going to Sainsburys. Normally, I’d much rather spend time alone or watching a movie with friends than leaving the house.

An event you were looking forward to that got cancelled?

The Olympics. The first thing I said this year, as the clock struck midnight, was “IT’S AN OLYMPIC YEAR”. Jokes on me, I guess. Also Wimbledon and seeing TSwizzle in Hyde Park.

What movies have you watched recently?

I am currently watching the 2019 Child’s Play remake. I’ve also rewatched all the Shreks while in quarantine, as well as all the Twilights (I like to watch them once a year for fun!). I watched Rocketman earlier today and I’ve rewatched Ratatouille and a few of the Harry Potters as well. I’ve made a very long list of films to get me through the next few weeks though.

What shows are you watching?

I watched Quiz over the 3 nights it aired, which was really good! I watched The Nest on BBC as well. I’m rewatching Torchwood and I’ve kept up to date with S7 of B99

What music are you listening to?

Can I say Lover by TSwizzle? And anything by TSwizzle really. I’m listening to the podcast Casefile on my daily walks.

What are you reading?

What haven’t I been reading? I just read The Selection, which is about a futuristic Asia with a strict caste system, where 35 girls have been “selected” to try and become the next Princess. Despite all the weirdness, it’s had one of the best faux monarchies I’ve read in fiction and I’m already super invested, even though it’s not my normal style of book and reminded me of Grace and Fury! I reread a bunch of Jacqueline Wilson books when she came out and then I was inspired to reread a bunch of The Saddle Club books that I borrowed from the library when I was younger. I read Break the Fall, which is based on the USA gymanstics teams sexual assault problems and made me miss the Olympics even more. I read Outwalkers, which has a horrible taste in punctuation and I read I Am Thunder, which is about a young British-Pakistani girl who is radicalised and written by a British Muslim.

What are you doing for self-care?

I make sure I take my daily walk (which I will never get over saying!) with my puppy! I’m spending a fair bit of time by myself to recharge and I’ve been netflix party-ing most nights with my closest friends. I’ve also been painting, which I am awful at but I LOVE. I could be doing more to be honest.

I’m always too lazy to tag people but, for once, I’m going to tag the first 5 people on my tag list: @duchessofostergotlands @lizisbackbackagain@harryandmeghansussex @thecambridges-family @claireofluxembourg

#personal #gloriousglorianas

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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praescitum chapter seventeen

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten, chapter eleven pt 1, chapter eleven pt 2, chapter twelve, chapter thirteen, chapter fourteen, chapter fifteen, chapter sixteen

casefile, season 10, season 11, pre-11x08 familiar. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: i finally finished this in full, all twenty chapters, so i should be able to post pretty regularly from here on out!! i plan to post the next four chapters every few days until i’m done, abiding to the schedule i failed to commit to in october lol.

---

seventeen.

february, 2018

In the aftermath of the broken laptop, Scully seems to be very on-edge. Jumpy, tense, jerking whenever Mulder touches her shoulder. He suggests that he go out and buy a new laptop (he feels like the least they should do is replace Ryan's broken one), and she immediately insists on doing it herself, like she doesn't want to be left alone in the room.

After the laptop had flown across the room, he'd expected her to immediately come up with several rational explanations for how it had happened. He'd expected her to dismiss it as a normal occurrence. He hadn't expected her to be afraid, although he can't blame her. He is plenty spooked himself after everything. But it still throws him to see her reacting this way. In the aftermath of the crash, she hadn't said anything. She'd just stood there, fists clenched. As he went to go examine the broken machine, he'd thought he saw her fingers shaking.

They end up going to get the laptop together, simply because Mulder doesn't particularly want to be in the room alone, either. He'd expect her to tease him about being scared, just a little, but she stays quiet, winding a scarf around her neck under the sharp edges of her hair. They drive to the store together, taking the broken laptop, and pick one out that looks fairly similar.

Scully is unflinchingly stubborn about the entire thing. She doesn't want to talk about it. When Mulder brings up setting up some sort of device to monitor further paranormal activity in the hotel room, Scully says, “No, Mulder,” and that is that. No explanation as to why. She refuses to engage in further discussions on the subject. And he'd be willing to leave it alone if he didn't see the way she tenses up when they re-enter the room and her eyes fall on the dent that the laptop left in the wall. She's stiff, her hands clenched in her coat pockets.

Mulder steps close to her and puts a gentle hand on her back, murmurs, “Are you okay, Scully?”

She tenses even more, but when she turns around to face him, her response is less hostile than he'd expected: firm, but surprisingly gentle. “I'm fine, Mulder. Okay?” No room for argument.

He rubs circles on the small of her back habitually; he doesn't believe her. “I'm a little on edge, too,” he says. “That was pretty unnerving.” Still nothing. Her gaze is somewhere between neutral and defiant. He runs his palm along her spine. “Do you want to get a different hotel room?” he offers. “Maybe at a different hotel?”

Her nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head automatically. “Don't be ridiculous. That's entirely unnecessary.” She steps away from him, setting her bag down on the little table. “So, what's the plan for tomorrow?” she asks, changing the subject smoothly. “I feel like one of us should go and see Joy Seers. Just to check in, maybe see what she remembers. Maybe talk to her husband, too, since he knew the girl who died before the Caruthers did in 2002.”

He doesn't push. He doesn't want to push too hard and drive her away. “That's a good idea,” he says. “I'd like to do some research, too, into ways to get rid of the ghost. Find out if there's some way to get rid of it without involving a priest.” He chuckles a little, and Scully shoots him a wry smile. But it comes out a little wobbly. “But we can both go to visit Joy, if you want,” he offers, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

She shakes her head. “No, you should focus on this research. I can pass on your well-wishes.” She bumps her elbow against his as she sits beside him. “Besides, we don't know if Skinner or Kersh are going to figure out where we are, and insist we come back,” she adds. “Tomorrow's Monday, remember?”

“Oh, nobody ever comes down there to check on us,” he says dismissively, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't shrug him off, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He kisses the top of her scalp. He murmurs into her hair, “Are you sure you're okay, honey?”

He can feel the clench of her jaw. “I'm fine, Mulder. Really.” She lifts her head and turns to kiss his cheek. “I'm going to take a shower, okay? We should get some sleep.”

She stands from the bed and begins pulling things from her overnight bag. Mulder watches her go, a little wistfully. He wants to reassure her, somehow, but he doesn't know how to. She's stoic, closed off, and she doesn't even believe in ghosts.

---

Scully can't sleep. It's ridiculous, but she can't. She can't relax enough. She's tense, jolting at every little sound: the air conditioning, the floorboards outside of their room, the wind outside their window. It sounds just the way it did on Halloween night of 2016 in their hotel room; it sounds like a human wail.

Mulder sleeps through all of it, snoring softly beside her, turned over on his side. She wishes, now, that she'd taken his offer to move to another hotel, but she is too embarrassed to admit that he was right, that she is frightened. He admitted that he was on edge, too, he gave her every opportunity to confess her nervousness, and she still held back. She can't admit how much seeing the laptop fly across the room scared her, she can't admit how frightened she's been by the things she's seen ever since they started coming to Willoughby. And as much as she's tried to rationalize the whole thing, she just can't.

She curls up against the warm plane of Mulder's back, her nose pressed against his shoulder, and shuts her eyes. Whatever she's seen, she reminds herself, he's seen it, too. Halloween of 2016 in the school. The night the assassins broke in, the night before they went to Norfolk, both times in dreams. She's seen it twice in dreams, she thinks—definitely after they came back from Norfolk, and possibly the night before the fire in Willoughby, back in 2016 (she thinks she remembers it that way)—and twice in person. Once in this very hotel, and once in her own home. And then tonight, whatever tonight was. It feels like nowhere is safe. She doesn't know what it is—whether it's a hallucination or paranoia or really, actually a ghost—and she doesn't know why she and Mulder keep seeing it, but she knows that it is not good. She knows that she is starting to agree with Mulder: that this thing needs to be gotten rid of. She just doesn't know how.

She finally falls asleep, uneasily, her chest to Mulder's spine and her hand on his hip, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes. When she drifts off, she is telling herself that she needs to tell Mulder, that she has to find a way to be honest with Mulder. But she falls asleep before she can figure out how.

---

In the morning, they have breakfast in the lobby. Scully thinks that Mulder must notice the circles under her eyes, but he doesn't say anything about them. Instead, he talks about some articles he found online. “There's lots of different options for getting rid of hostile spirits,” he says, “but I'm not sure how many of those would help in our situation. I don't know what Ryan did to get the ghost out of his house, but I don't think we can sage an entire town.” He chuckles, and Scully offers up a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. He takes a bite of toast, adding, “I thought I could walk to the library today. Kick it old school. Isn't there some book with a section about the Specter?”

“Sounds familiar,” says Scully, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Could be useful.” Mulder tears off a corner of toast and folds it around his last bite of bacon. “You going to talk to Joy?” he asks around his mouthful.

“I think so. I need to call her.” She takes a bite of yogurt, staring at her plate. “It doesn't feel right to just drop in,” she adds quietly.

Mulder reaches across the table to pat her hand. And then he asks it. “Are you okay, Scully?” he murmurs. “It looks like you didn't sleep at all last night.”

She yawns, and tries to stifle it. Tell him, a small voice in her head urges. Just tell him. You need to tell him. But she can't find the words. “Guess I was just restless,” she says. “But I'm okay.” She smiles toothily at him across the table, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn up.

He doesn't look convinced. He squeezes her hand. She tries, lamely, to change the subject. “Anything from Skinner yet?”

“No, not yet. I'd say we're in the clear, but it's still early.”

He smiles wryly, and her forced smile shifts into a genuine one. She loves him. She loves him so much, it hurts sometimes, and she's missed him desperately for years now. And here he is. She squeezes his hand this time. “I'll join you at the library when I'm done at the Seers's,” she says.

---

Scully calls Joy Seers after breakfast, using a number she finds listed in the phone book (she has Joy's cell from 2016, but after well over a year, who knows if it's still in use?). Fortunately, Joy seems open to a visit, subdued but still somewhat cheerful on the phone. She remembers Scully, and she tells her to come on over.

Scully finds the house easier than expected and parks on the street. The door is answered by a bearded man with glasses, who gives her a polite but questioning look. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Dana Scully,” Scully says, offering her hand to the man. “I’m an FBI agent. I… know Joy. I spoke to her about coming here?”

“It's okay, babe,” a voice says from behind the man, and then Joy appears in the doorway. She's a bit thinner than Scully remembers, hair down past her shoulders, but she smiles broadly at her and motions her in. “Agent Scully, it's good to see you again,” she says. “This is my husband, Ben, by the way.” Ben nods politely at her, shaking her hand as she enters.

“It's good to see you, too,” says Scully, really meaning it. “Mulder and I were so… worried, when we heard what had happened. And very, very relieved to hear that you were okay.” She feels awkward, unsure of what to say; a part of her wants to reassure Joy, tell her, I was in a coma, too. I know what it's like to have missing time. But she feels like it would be hollow, considering how different the circumstances are; she spent much less time in a coma, for one thing.

“I can tell you that I was very relieved as well,” Joy says with a soft laugh, motioning Scully towards the couch she'd sat on during her last visit. She waves at her husband as he disappears further into the house and folds her hands in her lap as she sits opposite Scully. “So what's up? I guess you guys are back in town because of the Specter? Has something happened?”

“Sort of,” Scully says, shifting uncomfortably. She's not exactly going to disclose that they are in town partially because Ryan Caruthers thinks she is possessed. She gives her the least descriptive summary she can. “We’re… here, more or less, because of Ryan Caruthers. He seems afraid of the… ghost.” After all this time, she still finds it hard to say the word. “He wants us to find some way to get rid of it.”

Something flickers over Joy's face, some dark sense of agreement, before it's replaced by neutrality. “I can't disagree with that sentiment,” she murmurs, shifting uncomfortably in place. She clears her throat and continues. “So, I guess you want to talk to me about that night?”

Scully nods, uncomfortable herself. This always was the hardest part, after she'd had to endure countless interviews of her own about various traumas and losses. Just tell us what happened. She hates it. “If you don't mind,” she says softly. “Whatever you can easily recall.”

“No, it's okay.” Joy offers her a small, considerably muted smile. “I still remember… some things from that night. Some things since.” She shrugs. “I remember… my necklace breaking by some invisible force,” she says, and it's only then that Scully notices the empty space at Joy's collarbone. “I remember driving home,” she continues, a little unsteadily. “I was just driving along, and… the radio just came on. I didn't touch it. I couldn't turn it off; I was just frozen. And then, I-I felt something come over me.” Her jaw is clenched, her teeth tight, and she is practically shivering in place. “I couldn't do anything, or stop it,” she finishes. “I couldn't stop it. I looked into the backseat, and I saw something, and it lunged at me. And then everything went black.” She shrugs, a little shakily.

Scully doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what she could say. She doesn't want to ask the obvious question—What do you think that was? The answer seems obvious.

Joy clears her throat and continues. “I-I don't remember anything after that. I just remember waking up in the hospital.” She pushes curls behind her ear and offers Scully a muted, polite smile. “I assume,” she says, “that it had something to do with the hauntings. I know it sounds so silly, but… after everything that happened that night… I don't know what else it could be. All the things moving by themselves, all the things I had no control over…”

“I understand,” says Scully, and it feels like a confession, like the closest she'll come to admitting what she hasn't been able to tell Mulder. It almost feels like a betrayal, and that's what is truly silly. She should be able to tell people; she should be able to tell her husband.

Joy nods, running her fingers through her hair. “I don't know what to make of it,” she says. “I still have nightmares, sometimes, where I can't breathe, can't move… I still hear things sometimes that I think might be a ghost…” Scully is tempted to suggest sleep paralysis, but she keeps her mouth shut. Joy fidgets, nervously. “And things have been so strange, since I woke up…” she says in a soft voice, nearly a whisper. “I-I'm constantly on edge. I can't relax. I always feel like someone's watching me. And there are long periods of time that I can't rem—”

Joy stops, suddenly, mid-sentence, freezing in place. Her face goes stiff and expressionless; her eyes go blank. She quivers a little in place. “Joy?” Scully asks, and then, with more fear when she doesn't reply, she repeats, “Joy?”

The woman quivers again, blinks slowly, and shakes her head. “I'm sorry,” she says, almost delicately. “I am afraid I lost track of what I was saying.”

“Are you all right?” Scully asks, feeling Joy's forehead with the back of her hand. “Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Joy says, surprisingly composed. She smiles, but there's something different about it. Something more biting. Scully removes her hand from her forehead.

“Is there anything el—?” she starts to ask, but Joy seems to have zeroed in on something else. She's staring at Scully's collarbone, her cross and her wedding ring, peeking up above the collar of her shirt.

Self-conscious, Scully starts to tuck the necklace away, but Joy reaches for it first, gesturing to her cross. “This necklace is very beautiful,” she says in a soft voice.

Scully shivers inadvertently. She vaguely remembers having a discussion with Joy about their similar necklaces, but she isn't sure whether or not Joy remembers that. She wonders if Joy's necklace was lost after the accident. “Thank you.”

“A lovely cross. And is that your wedding ring?” Joy traces the shape of the ring in the air with one finger. Scully swallows, nods. Joy looks up at her, her eyes dark as they meet. “I assume your faith in God is quite strong,” she says. “As is your faith in all other situations. That you trust your God to protect you. Am I correct?”

Scully swallows again, roughly, and looks away. “I suppose so,” she murmurs. She's uncomfortable, her spine crawling, her heart thudding. “I appreciate you talking with me like this, Joy,” she says, tucking hair behind her ear. She suddenly remembers something, a lame grab at shifting the subject. “Actually, do you think your husband would mind if I asked him some questions? I know that he knew the girl who committed suicide back in 2002—Holly Smith.” She has a sudden revelation and shifts in her position, away from Joy. “And he had the theory about the ghost being malevolent, right? The one you told us about last Halloween?”

“Yes,” Joy says, subdued. “You wish to speak to him?”

Scully's eyebrows raise. The change in Joy's demeanor, in her pattern of speech, is vaguely concerning, but she doesn't say anything about it. She's still unnerved by their earlier interactions. “Yes.”

“I will go get him.” Joy stands and starts for the door. To Scully's shame, she lets out a little exhale at her exit. She feels horrible, but Joy's shift in behavior threw her. After a nearly sleepless night, she doesn't think she can handle more tension.

A few minutes later, Ben Seers pads in, absently pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Joy said you wanted to talk to me?” he asks. “Agent Scully, right?”

“Yes. I would like to have a word, if you don't mind.” She starts to stand, but Ben motions to the couch, and she sits back down. He sits in the chair across from her. Scully clears her throat, picking at a cuticle, feeling awkward. “I wanted… to ask about Holly Smith,” she starts, and Ben's eyes almost immediately cloud over, a familiar look of grief. This is always one of the hardest parts. “You-you were close with her before she died, right?” she continues awkwardly

Ben laughs bitterly. “We were dating,” he says. “Is this because Jared Caruthers is going on parole this week? Or because of the Specter legend?”

Scully pushes at her cuticle. “Sort of both,” she admits uneasily. “Do… do you believe in the legend?”

Ben bites his lower lip, shifts in his chair. “Back then, I thought I did,” he admits. “It was… exciting, and mysterious, and I wanted to believe in ghosts. Hol and I, we both loved ghost stories. We did research together in our spare time, I was thinking about writing my thesis on local history, and it made sense… Joy told you about my theory, right? That the Specter is—was, whatever—demonic?” Scully nods. “That wasn't my theory, not exactly. It was Holly's. I found all the pieces, but she put them together. We kept digging further and further, to form a hypothesis; I know she was talking to Jared about it. She actually got excited when she told me that she was seeing the ghost, as if it couldn't absolutely destroy her.” Ben laughs again, rubbing his eyes wearily. “I don't know if I believe in the ghost anymore,” he says. “Fifteen, sixteen years ago, my girlfriend and I research the ghost, she starts seeing it, and then she commits suicide. A year and a half ago, my wife tells me about her classroom supposedly being haunted, and then she has a car accident and falls into a coma for a year and a half. Part of me wants to make something more of it, and part of me just wants to leave it alone. Jared tried to figure out why Holly died, if it wasn't her fault that she died, and he ended up killing his brother and sister-in-law. I may be selfish, but I don't want to look any further, you know? I don't want to risk anything else happening. I'm just grateful that Joy is okay.”

“I understand,” says Scully, because she does. She pushes at her thumbnail with her pointer finger. She tries a different approach. “Can I ask you about Jared Caruthers? I guess you must have known him pretty well in the time before he committed the murders.”

“I did.” Ben nods. “He was Holly's best friend. Since childhood. They hung out a lot, and I know they really loved each other. And to be honest, I liked him a lot, too. He was a good guy. He was absolutely devastated when Holly died. Tried to convince me that the Specter was responsible.” He rubs at his eyes again, his forehead. “I don't know why he committed those murders. At first, I didn't think he had committed those murders. I couldn't believe it; I thought he must've been framed. And now? I don't know. I hope he takes this chance on parole to turn his life around.”

“You didn't see any indications that he was going to hurt anyone?” she asks. She is trying to cover all of the bases. She still doesn't know if she believes that Jared Caruthers was possessed or not. “Any signs?”

Ben shakes his head. “I didn't. But then again, I wasn't really looking. I was grieving, and I didn't see a lot of him after I rejected his theory of the Specter's involvement.”

Scully nods. She has more questions she feels like she should ask—she thinks that Mulder would want to ask more questions—but she doesn't want to push. She understands the pain, the worry, the grief; she's seen it a thousand times, felt it a thousand times. She picks up her bag and stands. “Thank you so much for speaking to me,” she says. “You and Joy.”

Ben nods. “I hope I could help,” he says. “Although I'm still not entirely sure what it is you're investigating.”

Scully laughs quietly despite herself. “Neither do I, half the time,” she admits, and Ben smiles politely. She starts to walk off, but the sound of footsteps further in the house makes her pause. She remembers Joy's strange behavior, the sudden way she seemed to change: right in the middle of a sentence, something about long periods of time since she woke up. It's stuck in her mind, she can't let it go. She steps a bit closer to Ben's chair and says in a soft voice, “If you don't mind me asking… how has Joy seemed since she woke up?”

Ben looks surprised. “S-she's seemed fine,” he says. “Pretty healthy… maybe a little odd at times, but I figured that was to be expected, with the adjustments… Why do you ask?”

There are the footsteps again, heading towards the living room. Scully straightens up, replying, “No reason,” in an even voice, and hating the fearful tingle traveling up and down her spine. “I just wanted to check in.” You are being ridiculous, she scolds herself silently. There is nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing to be afraid of. She smiles brightly at Joy when she re-enters the room.

---

Mulder calls her en route to the library. Scully presses the Answer button and tucks it between her ear and her shoulder, answering, “Hey,” in lieu of her usual Scully. She admittedly loves the advantage of caller ID.

“Hey, Scully, it's me,” Mulder says, the same way he did twenty years ago. (Despite the caller ID.) He sounds stunningly solemn. “I just got a call from Skinner. He's got a case for us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It's, uh… it's a child.” His voice is grim now, almost apologetic. “The son of a local law enforcement officer in a little town called Eastwood, Connecticut. Found dead in the woods.”

Scully winces on instinct. “That's horrible,” she says.

“It is.” Mulder sighs on the other end, weary and emotional. She knows that emotion. She recognizes it as well as she did the things that Joy and Ben Seers were feeling. This is going to be hard.

She tries to change the subject. “So, why are we being called in? What's the X-File?”

“Local police are saying it's an animal attack, but the FBI thinks otherwise,” says Mulder. “Skinner wants us to take a look; he's sending the file our way. But I think the general theory is that it may be a murder, and Skinner seems to think it has the M.O. of an X-File.”

“Well, whether it's a murder or an X-File, I think it's worth looking into,” says Scully. As it much as it hurts to say it—as much as she knows it will hurt to work this case—she knows it needs to be solved. For that child, for his family. “Especially if the local police are ignoring facts.”

“I agree,” says Mulder. “And Skinner told me that no one else was available to fly out to Connecticut, anyway.”

Scully bites her lower lip and nods. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, still tense and jittery. “When do we leave?”

“In a couple hours. There's a flight at one. I think, if you're up for it, we could probably take a look at the crime scene at maybe examine the body today. I'm headed back to the hotel to pack up.”

“I'll meet you there,” she says. “I'm on my way back from meeting with Joy Seers.”

“Okay,” Mulder says. “Oh, how was Joy doing? Did she remember anything?”

“She did,” Scully says. “It's a long story, I'll fill you in.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a few.”

“See you in a few,” she says, and he hangs up.

She exhales deeply, dropping her phone in the passenger seat. She's tired. She's very tired. And she knows this case is going to be incredibly hard. She's been thinking of her son frequently for years now, and almost constantly since December, and she knows that this case is probably going to just make it harder. Operating on almost no sleep and a fearful demeanor won't help, either. She's going to buy a cup of coffee at the airport and possibly try to nap on the plane.

Scully flips on her turn signal as she prepares to change lanes. Her eyes shift up absently to her mirror and note the car behind her. And then land directly on the dark, humanoid shape in the backseat.

Scully screams, shrill and fearful like a child, and slams down on the brake. The car screeches to a stop abruptly; a horn honks longly and indignantly behind her. She looks over her shoulder at the backseat, and then back at the rearview mirror. There's nothing there.

Her heart is thudding too hard against her ribs, she's breathing too rapidly. A tear wells in her eye, and she frustratedly wipes it away. Grits her teeth, takes a deep breath, and takes her foot off the brake. There's nothing to be afraid of, she tells herself. There's nothing to afraid of.

But the more she thinks it, the more it doesn't sound true.

---

After school, Ryan's doing homework at the kitchen table, trying his best to concentrate on that and not worry about his aunt at work, or wonder why he hasn't heard from Agents Mulder and Scully yet, when the doorbell rings.

Ryan clambers to his feet immediately and heads for the door, assuming it must be the FBI agents. But when he opens the door, he finds a kid standing there with rumpled hair and a Spiderman sweatshirt. It takes a few seconds, but he finally recognizes him: it's Robbie O'Connell, much taller than Ryan remembers. (He hasn't seen very much of the kid since the fire, for obvious reasons; the sheriff was pretty amicable about the whole thing at the time, and he knows that Annie is still friends with Bonnie O'Connell, but it's not like they're getting invited to barbecues anymore. And certainly, there are no more offers to babysit.)

“Rob,” Ryan says with shock. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Mom and Dad told me not to come,” Robbie says, rocking back and forth on his heels. Ryan raises his eyebrows at the kid, and he continues. “But I wanted to come. I didn't know who else would know what to do.” The kid looks up at Ryan, almost shyly. “And I don't think you set that fire to hurt Dad. You wouldn't do that.”

“Oh,” Ryan says awkwardly. “Um, thanks, kid.” Robbie is still staring at him with those little-kid eyes, so Ryan adds, “W-what's going on?”

“I'm seeing the ghost again,” Robbie says in a rush, bouncing up and down on his feet, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. Ryan's eyes widen instinctively; in the back of his head, he thinks distantly: Oh, shit.

Robbie's still talking, nearly rambling. “I've seen it four times since Christmas, Ryan, and I'm really, really scared,” he says. “The last time that happened, my dog ran away, and my dad and my Uncle Kenny almost died. I don't want that to happen again!” His lip trembles like he is going to cry.

“Hey, hey, buddy.” Ryan leans forward and pats the kid's shoulder. He's never been great with kids—marked by both the fact that everyone in town thinks he's a criminal, and by the fact that he's never really been around them, anyways—but he'd always felt pretty okay with Robbie. He pats Robbie's shoulder, trying his best to be reassuring. “It's going to be okay,” he says, and hopes desperately that it's not a lie.

“D-do you know what to do to stop it?” Robbie asks softly.

Ryan meets the kid's eyes, and tries his best to look serious. To convey seriousness and comfort with one look. “I'm working on it, Rob,” he says. “I promise you, I'm working on it.”

He knows what Robbie is fearing. He's been seeing the ghost, too, and it's been more frequently than normal, which is saying something. He's worried about what it could do to his family. Jared is going on parole in a couple of days, and now Robbie is seeing the ghost again, and it all feels too convenient. His house is safe—he thinks, he hasn't seen the ghost inside the house since last December, but he can't really know for sure, can he? He's scared, too. He's scared, too.

Robbie sniffles, dragging the back of his wrist across his nose like it's running. And Ryan suddenly remembers something: Robbie didn't used to be scared of the ghost. Robbie used to think it was cool. Robbie used to want to see the ghost. “Hey, Robbie?” he asks tentatively. “What happened? Last I remember, you used to like the ghost. You thought it was really cool.”

Robbie looks up at him, his eyes huge. “The ghost always shows up before bad stuff happens, but he never tells you what to do about it,” he says—incidentally the same case Ryan has been making for years, but he lets it slide. Having just one more person believe him about the ghost being evil feels like a victory.

“And—” Robbie continues pointedly before pausing, licking his lower lip thoughtfully. “You remember how I used to feel when I saw the ghost? Real good, like it was an angel?” he asks, and Ryan nods. “Well, it doesn't feel like that for me anymore. It feels bad. It feels scary.”

It'd never felt that way for Ryan. He's been seeing the ghost since he was little, and it has never once felt good.

---

Ryan sends Robbie home, mostly because he hardly wants to be on the O'Connells's bad side. Before the kid leaves, he promises he's going to do everything he can to help him. “You remember those FBI agents who came to town when your dog was missing? The ones you called Men in Black?” he asks, and Robbie nods. “I called them,” Ryan says, feeling almost proud of himself. “They're going to help. They're going to try to get rid of it.”

But that isn't exactly true, he finds out a few minutes later. He calls Agent Mulder from the number he saved into his phone last year, to let him know that Robbie saw the ghost, and also to see if they've made any progress. But Agent Mulder doesn't pick up immediately. And when he finally does, it's with apologies. Apparently they've been called out of town to Connecticut. Some case that apparently takes priority over this one. “I'm sorry, Ryan,” he says, “but we were in such a hurry to get out of town, I forgot to get in touch with you…”

Anger rises in Ryan's throat—sudden, like bile—and he blurts, “That's bullshit!” Agent Mulder tries to say something on the other end, but Ryan keeps going, plunging like a freight train. “You said you'd try to help me. You said you'd do your best!”

“We will do our best, Ryan,” Agent Mulder says, his voice annoyingly patient. “We want to help you. These orders to work this case are coming from above us, and it's more or less urgent… it's a murder investigation. It's more of an actual investigation in general… We couldn't justify staying in Willoughby over this case.”

Ryan works his jaw back and forth, grits his teeth until his bones ache. “That's bullshit,” he mutters, quieter. It does make sense, he guesses, but at the same time, it doesn't. Why would they come here if it wasn't a priority? What will he be able to do if he doesn't have any help from them? The local police won't be any help—they’ll just laugh at him and tell him the Specter isn't dangerous—and he can't do it by himself. He can't do it by himself.

“Ryan, I'm sorry,” Agent Mulder says, and he does sound almost genuinely sorry. Almost. “There wasn't anything that could be done… How about this, okay? If anything happens… if anyone is in danger, or gets threatened, if anyone gets hurt… call me and Agent Scully and I will be there as soon as we can.”

Ryan shuts his eyes with frustration. He feels like a little kid, the way this guy is talking to him. It infuriates him to no end, the promise of help just to have that hope taken away. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles angrily, kicking a leg of the table. “Whatever. See you later, I guess.”

“Wait, wait,” says Agent Mulder before Ryan can yank the phone away from his ear. “What did you call to tell me about? What happened?”

Ryan thinks of Robbie, weepy and frightened on his porch. He thinks of the ghost outside his door, Annie's or Mrs. Seers's blank eyes, the scissors raised in the air. He thinks of the fact that they're pretty far away, and that they didn't seem to think they could help anyway. Especially Agent Scully.

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Good luck on your murder case, I guess.”

“Ryan—” Agent Mulder starts, but Ryan has already hung up. He drops the phone on the table and drops his face into his hands.

---

That night, Ryan can't sleep. Can't relax, can't stop thinking. He gets up and checks the salt lines along his windows, a habit he's developed in the weeks since the banishing incident. He replaces them weekly, all over the house, and frequently sages. Annie has stopped questioning it. She doesn't argue, but Ryan can tell she doesn't exactly approve. He doesn't know if she believes in the ghost, the danger; he doesn't care.

Ryan rechecks the salt line and notes, satisfied, that the line is still there, unbroken. He straightens up, looking out into the dark night as he reaches for the shade, and then he freezes. His eyes land on a hulking figure down by the tree in the backyard. A small light flicks to life, almost like a lantern.

Ryan clenches his jaw to keep from huffing in disgust and yanks the shade down, hiding the shape from view. He checks the line one more time: still unbroken.

He tries to scoff it off, tries to act like it's no big deal. But he can't stop shivering, as if freezing, as he climbs into bed. His hands won't stop shaking.

---

march, 2018

A few days later, Ryan gets a call from Jared, who is officially out on parole. They've more or less made up since their argument in December, although Ryan senses that Jared is still upset that he tried to banish the ghost, and he is still hurt that Jared scolded him for trying to protect himself. But whatever the case, Ryan has been trying to keep up with the parole process. He's scared to death about what's going to happen now that Jared is out. It has been something of an awkward process with his aunt's resentment for her brother, but he's somewhat been making it work.

“I just wanted to check in,” Jared says when he calls. “An old friend from in here who got out a few years ago agreed to let me stay with him; he lives in Winchester.” (The next town over from Willoughby.) “He's just picked me up, we're headed over now. I just wanted to tell you that you're welcome whenever—”

“No, no, no,” Ryan interrupts, waving his hands in the air frantically like he can erase the words. “No, you can't go there, Uncle Jared. You gotta come here. You gotta come straight here.”

There's a moment of empty silence on the other end, and then a nervous laugh on Jared's part. “Ryan, I-I don't know that that's a good idea,” he says. “Your aunt, she… she doesn't want to see me.”

Almost as if on cue, Annie walks into the room and sees him on the phone. Her eyes narrow, as if she's zeroing in, and she mouths, Is that Jared? Ryan nods impatiently, turning in his side so he doesn't have to awkwardly stare at her. “It doesn't matter. You've gotta come anyway. It's the only safe place; I've made it safe. The Specter can't hurt you if you're in the house.”

Ryan can sense Annie's discomfort behind hm. “Ry—” she protests briefly, but he ignores her. “Please,” he says, his voice husky. Ever since the FBI agents left town, he's been on edge. Worrying about himself, his friends, his family. Robbie O'Connell and his family. He can't stand worrying anymore. “Please come here.”

Jared laughs again, uneasy. “Oh, Ryan, I don't know…”

“Come here. Straight here.” He stabs the tabletop with his finger. “Aunt Annie is fine with it.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“She is, I swear.” Ryan turns in his chair to face his aunt again, and throws her a pleading look. She looks pissed, her arms crossed, but she's not shaking her head. She leaves a sigh, rolling her eyes, and shrugs. “It's fine,” he insists into the phone—it’s not entirely a lie. “Seriously. Please come here. W-we need to figure out what to do about this. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

Jared sighs, almost the same way as Annie did. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I'll come, but not permanently, okay? This isn't going to be easy, Ryan.”

“ I know. I know. Just please come here, okay? It'll be fine,” he says, irritated. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Jared says with a sigh. “Ryan, I don't want to doubt you… but are you sure it's this dangerous right now? You've been seeing the ghost for years, right? Why is right now so important, after everything that's happened over the past sixteen years?”

Ryan sighs, rubbing his forehead with his palm. He thinks of Robbie seeing the ghost, of seeing the ghost outside his window that night. That's not the first time it's happened, and that's not the last time, either; he's seen it several times since. It all coincides: Robbie seeing the ghost, him seeing the ghost, Mrs. Seers being possessed, Jared getting out of prison… He knows what people are saying around town. They're saying that Jared is coming back to kill him and take his final revenge, or that he's coming back to team up with him, and the Caruthers will go on a killing spree around town. It's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, but he's probably not doing a very good job of steering clear of those rumors, asking Jared to come here. But he doesn't care. He just wants to keep the people he loves safe, and with those FBI agents out of town, he doesn't know how else to do that. “It just is,” he says. “Trust me, okay? Let's not have history repeat itself.”

Jared chuckles humorlessly, bitterly. “That's a low blow, kid,” he says. “I'll be there in about an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan says, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Okay, thank you. Thank you. I'll see you then.”

When he hangs up, he looks up to find Annie staring at him, eyebrows raised. “You know, kid,” she says, “I figured you'd want me to spend some time with my brother after he got out. I just didn't think it would be so soon.”

Ryan sighs heavily. “I'm sorry, Aunt Annie. I just…”

“It's not safe anywhere else but here?” she asks incredulously. “What the hell does that mean, Ryan? Are you still scared of the Specter?”

“It's a long story, okay?” he replies, nearly whining. “Can you just… trust me? Can you trust me about this? I'm doing all of this to keep us safe.”

Annie shuts her eyes with frustration, shaking her head. “I just don't get it,” she says. “I want to support you, Ryan… I want you to do what you need to do to get over what happened… but I just don't understand how you could feel safe around that man, after what happened. After what he did to your parents.” She groans, rubbing her temples as if she has a headache, and shakes her head as if to erase the words. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't say those things to you, but… I know something's going on. It's been going on for years. And I've never completely understood it, but… can you explain it to me? Can you try?”

Ryan's not looking at his aunt directly anymore. He's looking over her shoulder, through the kitchen window. By that same tree in the backyard is the familiar form of the Specter, sans lantern. He's turned away so Ryan can't make out his face but it's him, he'd recognize him anywhere. And then as Ryan blinks, he's gone. As if he was never there.

“I'd tell you…” Ryan says in a tremulous voice. “But… I just don't think you'd believe me.”

#xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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